


Capes Are For Flying

by teenagemutantninjamushroom (TeenagedMutantNinjaFangirl)



Category: Defendor (2009), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Darcy Lewis is Katerina Debrofkowitz, Defendor crossover/fusion, F/M, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Prostitution, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 96,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeenagedMutantNinjaFangirl/pseuds/teenagemutantninjamushroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working at Stark Industries as one of Maria Hill's fleet of assistants was definitely a plus side to following Jane to New York. Admittedly befriending Captain America and by association the Winter Soldier was a little more than she bargained for but she's more than capable of rolling with it. In fact, she can even roll with helping him to become more Bucky Barnes than brainwashed assassin. It's the whole deranged ex-cop she may or may not have sent to jail (and hey, shot in the balls) is now out of jail, broken parole and most likely wanting revenge thing that's making life difficult. Living under an assumed identity was a lot harder than the movies made out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here Lies Darcy Lewis: In The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> So this is a fusion/crossover with the 2009 film Defendor. I'm trying to explain as much as I can as I go but you will definitely understand more if you've seen it. You should totally watch it anyway because it's kind of awesome and Woody Harrelson is amazing in it.
> 
> Basically the not so complex concept being that Katerina Debrofkowitz (played by Kat Dennings) at the end of he film changed her name went to college and wound up interning for Jane.
> 
> There is a lot of triggering stuff in her past so I've tried to tag as much as I can, I'll endevour to put warnings at the beginning of chapters that specifically involve them.
> 
> If you don't feel like watching the film I'm happy to answer any questions about it/give you a general overview.
> 
> Apologies for Australian spelling. Hope you guys like, sorry for the long rambly note.

If she were being completely honest with herself, Darcy knew that most of the trouble in her life (because her life was filled with nothing but trouble) stemmed from hanging out with people that had the tendency to let their sense of righteousness outweigh their sense of self preservation. That and she always seems to stumble into the wrong place at the wrong time.

She walked into the wrong room at Culver and – not having the heart to tell doe-eyed Jane that her only applicant wasn’t actually there to apply for anything, she was just trying to locate one of her old professors to see about those credits she needed to make up her degree – wound up interning for a semi-mad astrophysics genius and witnessing Asgardian Gods dropping out of the sky like bird crap.

Seventy-eight non-disclosure agreements, a crash course in intergalactic politics and several bribes in the form of shiny new equipment later and Jane was working in collaboration with SHEILD, and Darcy along with her. A short (and not entirely voluntary) trip to Trosmø, an alien invasion, the London fiasco, and oh, the complete and total annihilation of SHEILD; they were back in New York, this time working at Stark Industries. And obviously a building run by Tony Stark provided Darcy with a veritable smorgasbord of opportunities to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s how she met each of the Avengers.

Two weeks into working there Darcy had been helping train the team of five – count them, _five_ – bright eyed young interns ready to dive head-long into the worm hole that was Jane’s research. She’d left them to baby-sit Jane while she went to fetch the coffee about twenty minutes earlier (the last time she had entrusted on of the planeteers to get it they had mixed up the order and she had been reduced to demoting him to Heart).

Singing maybe not quite as quietly as she thought she was along to her iPod, she entered the lab with two trays of paper cups and a greeting yell of “ _By your powers combined…_ ” only to be greeted in return by screams, a roar, and one of Jane’s thingamabobs flying towards her head at an alarming speed.

Dropping the seven hot drinks (all over her brand new coat thank you very much) she jumped to the side executing a rather impressive roll, if she did say so herself. Crawling along the ground like a commando she took shelter underneath the closest available object (a desk), shuffling around so that she could see what the hell was going on.

And true to form (wrong place, wrong time) when she popped her head up from behind her temporary shelter it was to come face to face with the Hulk.

Dr Banner had never come down to Jane’s lab to consult before, though the number of projects undertaken at Stark Industries that required someone with a unique expertise in radiation was rather alarming, so it had been only a matter of time.

She felt pretty safe in her assumption that, in her absence, some serious shit had gone down, causing Banner to go from lean to green. Those were the words she would be using in her official account of this incident (a legal requirement here at SI, where apparently catastrophic encounters were the weekly norm) that is, if she were alive enough to make it.

“Oh _shit_ ,” it had left her like a whimper, her eyes fixed on the enormous rage monster leaning over her, and breathing hard.

Taking a few quick breaths of her own, ok verging on hyperventilating but she was counting the fact that she had refrained from peeing her pants as a win, she glanced over at Jane and the kids. The 3.5 scientists (interns only counting as half-scientists) were on the other side of the room, crouched behind one of the work benches and – thanks to her excellent distraction techniques – now had a clear path to the doorway behind the Hulk who was still focused solely on Darcy.

After the whole New-York-being-invaded-by-aliens thing, there had been very few Incidents of Dr Banner Hulking out. There was definitely a section in her Orientation packet about what to do in lab emergencies, and there had definitely been a subsection for dealing with Incidents.

Darcy really had been meaning to read it, she swears that it had been top on her list of things to do, until of course they had told her she wouldn’t be interning for Jane any more. Apparently she’d more than earned her required credits and thus her degree, now that Jane had actual baby scientists to work for her Darcy was going to be moving upstairs to a job “more suited to her qualifications” once she trained the newbies in proper mad-genius care. So really she figured all of the lab stuff was no longer related to her, which is why she may have skimmed it. Or you know skipped it. Hindsight is a motherfucker.

He seemed mostly confused, sporadically taking breaks from glaring at her to screw up his face and shake his head like a dog trying to dislodge a fly. Seizing one of these moments she leant around the semi-nude green dude to wave the others out of the room.

The planeteers did _not_ need telling twice; scurrying out the door faster that she thought it possible for a pack of stereotypical nerds to move. Jane however hesitated, eyes flicking between the fleeing interns and Darcy.

“Get help!” she couldn’t yell like she wanted to but Darcy hissed as aggressively as she could, flapping Jane away with some very emphatic arm gestures.

Freezing again when she noticed the Hulk’s attention back on her, she couldn’t see whether Jane listened. All she could do was pray that it would be one of the rare occasions the certified genius did as she was told. Which would be totally awesome, like some weird tospy-turvy day, making it likely she would actually get help in time. Someone who was not nearly as breakable and way more qualified to handle this than Darcy would be preferable.

She knew enough from Thor to know that calming down the Hulk was what was supposed to happen, and in all honesty “don’t piss of the giant rage monster” seemed fairly obvious at that point.

“Hey big guy,” she smiled, tone soft and hopefully reassuring. Her only experience with this sort of thing was a few years ago when she’d spent Christmas with Jane’s family. For some reason, she’d been left alone with Jane’s eight year old cousin. Kids were not her thing, so she had hoped this would work a lot better than when she told little Emily that she couldn’t watch _Reservoir Dogs_. If Hulk kicked her in the shins she doubted all she’d get for her troubles is a bruise.

He stared down at her, breathing still labored but his head cocked to the side, brow pinching in what she chose to see as curiosity and not his default angry frown.

“I’m Darcy, we haven’t been introduced yet, in this or your other form, but I heard a lot about you. You’re taller than I imagined,” what the hell was she even saying? Oh god she was going to be squashed like a bug. “Tony speaks very highly of you. Or at least, that’s what Jane says, I haven’t really met him yet either but I’m sort of counting my blessings, apparently he can be a total pain in the ass.”

She got a small huff of breath for her efforts. But again, she hadn’t yet peed her pants and she was not a sticky substance smeared all over the expensive lab floor; Darcy took her victories where she found them. Glancing around the room she saw one of Jane’s not so fancy pieces of equipment had been a smoking wreck, and in the “exploded-from-my-own-malfunction” kind of way, not the “I’m-collateral-damage-from-an-Incident” way.

“One of Jane’s bits of junk blow up in your face?” it was a little blackened by soot. “I thought the point of joining Stark Industries was that she would be getting equipment that did not need the liberal application of duct tape and Krazy Glue to function. So not only is Tony a pain in the ass, but he totally under-delivers on his bribes.”

He still had confusion clouding his gaze and she had no clue if he could understand a word she was saying. They stood there in silence for what felt like forever, him still leaning close enough that her glasses were starting to fog up with each exhalation. Christ, she had no clue what she was doing, about three seconds from just saying “fuck it” and making a wild break for freedom. Logical action under stress? Also not her strong suit.

“Hulk not like bang,” his voice was surprisingly soft for something so big. It was quiet enough that if she hadn’t been staring at him when he spoke she would not have been sure he had. It was still gruff, almost a growl, but somehow small, like a kindergartener who had fallen over and scraped a knee.

A few seconds passed before his chin wobbled a little, like the giant green ball of anger was trying his best not to cry. And because Darcy had absolutely no clue what to do to begin with, and really, _really_ should not be counted on to make decisions in life threatening situations, the sight of that tremor had her melting.

By the time the tactical team Jane had called made it to the lab she had been standing on the desk, arms wrapped around the Hulk in a big bear hug as he shrank back down to Banner-size. After awkwardly breaking apart (Banner being somewhat naked and them never actually having met before) she re-introduced herself, waving away his apologies like people turned into colossal balls of muscle around her all the time.

Blasé attitudes towards life threatening situations? Definitely her thing, usually packaged with a healthy dose of sass and sarcasm to hide the fact that she nearly wet herself.

Of course meeting Bruce Banner (who in all honesty probably would have calmed himself down without her help, he was actually pretty good at that as long as people didn’t come barging in yelling stupid cartoon catchphrases and startling him) was absolute cake walk compared to her introduction to Captain America. Heck meeting Natasha was a breeze compared to that (she even got the satisfaction of saying she’d been crash tackled by the Black Widow and lived to tell the tale). Of course that was because she was also meeting the Winter Soldier at the same time.

It really should go on her tombstone: _Here lies Darcy Lewis, in the wrong place at the wrong time._

*

Darcy had to back into the room, knocking the door open with her hip, balancing the tray of four coffees on one hand and her phone in the other. “Ok Stark, they wouldn’t put eight shots in one _venti_ macchiato so I had to get you two _grandés_ with four-”

Which was when something cold and hard closed around her throat and she was pulled backwards quite forcefully.

Just managing to save the coffee – but not her phone which dropped hard onto the floor, cracking the screen, Tony was going to kill her – she tried to figure out what the fuck was going on when the thing around her throat gave a rough tug and she was pulled even more firmly against what she could now tell was a very well built chest.

That and the metal hand had her putting the pieces together faster than she could say “oh shit.”

This was not the lab where she had left Tony and Jane arguing about something using more math than English in their sentences. This was one of the medical labs, complete with a team of seven doctors and nurses, four of whom were staring at her like she was about to spontaneously combust. The other three were in various states of regaining consciousness having been thrown quite violently across the room.

Several of the tables had been flipped or knocked over, there was glass crunching beneath her feet as she tried to stand on her tiptoes in an attempt to not get strangled.

Directly in front of her, in the centre of the room, was none other than Captain America. Though technically, since he was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark blue sweater, Steve Rogers might have been more accurate.

“Make them go,” the voice in her ear was rough and sounded like it did not get a whole lot of use. “No… No doctors. Make them… get them…”

“Ok,” Captain Rogers had his hands out, palms facing her and the ex-assassin holding her up by her neck. “No Doctors.”

The med staff picked up their injured colleagues and, avoiding looking anywhere near her, shuffled out the door.

As they passed where they were standing the metal hand around her neck tensed and she gasped a little as it got steadily harder to draw breath.

“Ok Buck, they’re gone now,” he started speaking the second the door shut. She could feel movement followed by the sound of a lock clicking into place. It was just the three of them alone now. “Why don’t you let her go?”

“Darcy,” she managed to choke out. If she was going to die in front of a national icon he should probably know her name.

“Why don’t you let Darcy go?”

She could feel the Winter Soldier shaking his head behind her. Barely managing not to lose her footing she stumbled along as he moved away from the door and further into the room, keeping Captain Rogers in sight.

Darcy knew the story, she’d been at Stark Industries for just over a month. She’d gone from teaching Jane’s interns how to make sure that Jane was fed and watered, to working directly under Maria Hill. Hill had been hired as the Managing Director of what was being nicknamed Avenger’s Tower (officially the New York offices for SI as well as the residence of several of the Avengers) and Darcy had spent the last week as one of her many assistants. Which seemed to entail a lot of dealing with Tony Stark.

So she knew all about what had actually happened in DC, and that Cap and Falcon had been traipsing around the former Soviet Bloc looking for the Winter Soldier. She even knew that they had finally found him and were bringing him in this week. Stark had failed to mention that was today however. Of course he couldn’t be blamed for her complete inability to avoid stumbling across a dangerous situation, but whatever, she could still curse his name whilst she silently prayed she wasn’t about to die carrying his coffee order.

“Won’t… won’t forget,” he shook his head again, his voice growing stronger. “They can’t make me forget!”

Rogers looked as if someone had punched him in the gut, pain flashing across his face, like it was his favourite kitten being disembowled in front of him instead of his brainwashed best friend close to strangling someone he’d never met.

And yet again Darcy found herself victim of puppy dog eyes.

“Hey,” she ignored the way his hand reflexively tightened when she spoke, turning her head as much as she could to try and see him.

In all of the commotion her glasses had slipped down her nose so all she could make out was a blurry curtain of dark hair and a tiny bit of what she thought might have been his jaw at eye level.

“Hey,” she tried again. “Bucky is it?”

His grip tightened then loosened once more making her wince slightly. He flinched, turning his head away from her shaking his head. So not Bucky then.

“Ok,” she took as much of a calming breath as his grip would allow. “Look, no one hear wants to make you forget. Especially Steve. He just wants to get you cleaned up alright?”

Fuck it, she figured life threatening situations put her on a first name basis with superheroes. She got no response, though she would take not being strangled to death as a positive sign.

“No offense dude, but you kind of smell,” she hadn’t seen him before he was on her so she had no idea what sort of state he was in. Glancing down she could see the metal arm covered in a dirty black sleeve of what felt like a sweatshirt, and there was something warm and wet soaking through her shirt against her right shoulder.

“And you’re probably hurt, the doctors-”

Her vision went a little black around the edges and the hand not carrying the coffee tray scrabbled uselessly against the metal hand as she was pushed against the wall coming face to face with the Winter Soldier.

His hair was hanging knotted and greasy, barely grazing his collarbones, dressed in the hoodie and tattered black jeans that were a little big for him. There was several weeks of beard growing on his face, he panted through his grit teeth, growling at her like a wild animal.

“No! No Doctors,” his eyes were wild and slightly crazed, their storm cloud grey shining in stark contrast to the black paint smeared around them, running down his cheeks and into his beard. He slammed her against the wall again, the coffees in the tray she was still gripping like a life line sloshing around in their paper cups.

“Ok, Jesus, no doctors I get it!” his grip loosened slightly but he was still leaning over her, bearing his teeth in a snarl.

She could see a rip in his hoodie near his right collarbone the dark stain surrounding it causing her to gulp down some much needed air. There were a few cuts and scrapes on his face and neck and he was holding his right arm across his chest.

“How about this,” she closed her eyes asking herself (not for the first time in her life) what the fuck she thought she was doing.

“How about you let me take a look? I am not a doctor, believe me.” His scowl deepened, mistrust glaringly obvious in his gaze.

“I just work for Stark, see,” even though it was only because he owned the company and her job with Hill involved dealing with him, but explaining that would take up more breath than she currently had to use.

“It’s his coffee, I was just out getting him coffee,” she held the tray of drinks up in the minuscule amount of space between them. The fact that she hadn’t spilt them was a sad comment on how she prioritized caffeine. “Clearly my sense of direction sucks balls as I wound up in here instead of the lab he was in.”

Glancing down at the coffees his grip loosened a little more, and when he looked back at her his frown was more confused than aggressive.

“You want one? His are like, super strong, I’m talking enough caffeine to run a small country. Or, you know, you could have my latte. You could even try Jane’s mocha, but it's soy and I can’t guarantee that she won’t be pissed at you for it. She kind of needs the sugar to function.”

His eyes kept darting between her and the coffees, his grip slackened enough that he wasn’t doing much more than resting his hand against the base of her throat. But there was suspicion in his gaze. She was about a second away from rolling her eyes and asking him if he thought she poisoned it before she remembered who exactly she was talking to and that it was probably a very real concern for him. His paranoia about being made to forget probably meant he wouldn’t put it past her to slip him a tranquilizer. The thought made her queasy.

“Here,” slowly she pulled her latte out of its holder, taking a big sip. “It’s caramel, and it’s still hot.”

She held it out to him, waiting patiently as he looked between it and her several times, trying to keep her expression reassuring. Finally he reached out with his right hand snatching the cup away, sparing it one more suspicious glance, sniffing it experimentally before taking a sip. His eyes widened at the taste, a look of almost child-like wonder crossing his features as he gulped down more greedily.

“See? How awesome is that?” she smiled brightly at him. “Apparently Stark’s too good for Starbucks, but there’s this great little place he loves, only problem is it’s like six blocks away. Rich dudes, am I right?”

Judging by his expression he either had no clue what she was talking about or he thought she was nuts. Either way he was drinking the caramel latte, which was definitely progress.

“So,” she began. “How about you let me clean you up a little? You can keep drinking that and I’m going to help myself to one of Tony’s. I figure he owes me for making me walk so far.”

The moment she spoke he tensed, he eyes darting over his shoulder at where Steve was still standing shuffling his weight between each foot, about three seconds away from doing something stupid and heroic like the idiot Captain America tended to be.

“Steve is going to stay over there in that corner,” raising her voice pointedly, she fixed him with her best scientist wrangling glare. “Aren’t you?”

“Darcy-” he began.

“ _Aren’t you_ Steve?” she kept her glare focused on him until with a resigned sigh he nodded.

Barnes was still watching her, his expression apprehensive and slightly panicked. But every time his eyes darted to the side in Steve’s direction she could see a flash of guilt.

“How about we give him Jane’s mocha?” she tried, glancing between the two of them. “But only if he promises to stay right there. He can make sure that no one else bothers us.”

Satisfied that no one else would be coming in Barnes nodded, stepping away from her and finally dropping his metal hand. She could hear it whirring as it rested at his side. Trying to radiate a sense of calm she slowly walked over to Steve, pulling Jane’s cup from the tray and holding it out to him. He grabbed her hand over the cup, not letting her pull away as he fixed her with a serious frown.

“What are you doing-?”

“Shut it Steve,” she all but growled. “Or there will be no chocolatey goodness for you.”

Ignoring the small sounds of protest he made she shoved the coffee into his hand before turning back to Barnes. The second she asked him to sit she saw the panic in him flare up again. His eyes were making frequent trips to the examination table. It was sleek and modern, as most things at SI were, yet still like every other exam table she’d ever seen. Metal frame, black vinyl cushioning with a sheet of that disposable medical paper crap covering it. The back had been folded up so that it looked more like a chair. Barnes was eyeing it like it would swallow him whole.

Right, aversion to all things medical.

She walked to the sink, filling one of the metal bowls with hot water before dropping a cloth in it. She stuffed a bunch of gauze and a small first aid kit under one arm before walking to the counter that wrapped around the entire back wall of the room, the one that just so happened to be the furthest from the door and the majority of the medical equipment. Turning to face the others she jumped up onto bench, shimmying backwards until she was sitting comfortably.

“Hop up,” she smiled patting the space next to her, at his suspicious gaze she added. “This way I can sit too.”

So far she had catalogued three expressions from him: suspicious, angry, and confused. When he finally sat next to her she swiveled around, tucking her feet up beneath her like a pretzel.

“Bear with me,” she grimaced apologetically. “Like I said, I am not a doctor. Um, you should probably should lose the hoodie.”

Look #3: _confusion_.

“Your jacket,” she explained nodding at it. “I’ll need you to um… take it off.”

She was not blushing, Darcy Lewis did not blush at strange men removing their clothes. She was a mature responsible adult playing nurse, she had to look at this clinically. The fact that he wasn’t wearing anything under the hoodie totally did not help at all.

“Right,” she blinked. “Right.”

She started with his flesh arm, slowly cleaning the dirt and dried blood from his knuckles and wrist, wincing apologetically when she swabbed something chemically smelling that claimed antiseptic properties on the bottle over some of the open cuts and grazes. Barnes didn’t even blink, staring down at her with look #3 still firmly fixed on his face. She kept going, working her way up his arm until she reached his shoulder.

“Holy shit,” the curse escaped her before she could stop it, one of the many, _many_ reasons she was not a doctor being that she was not good at keeping a lid on her panic at the sight of open wounds. “Yeah, that is going to need stitches.”

The shake of his head was a very emphatic no. _No med staff_.

“I may lack any medical training other than watching far too much _MASH_ growing up but that should definitely be sewn up.”

Another head shake. Oh goody, we weren’t talking anymore. At her irritated huff his frown deepened before he jerked his chin at her.

“Me?” she balked at just the thought of sticking a needle anywhere near human skin. “Yeah, definitely not. I am not too proud to admit that the thought of sewing you up is making me want to projectile vomit my breakfast all over the joint. You need a professional.”

And yet more of the angry head shaking.

“Fine! Jesus.”

Wiping it clean as best she could she doesn’t even hesitate before smearing it with the antiseptic shit, thinking the sting would serve him right for being difficult. Good god she was living a scene from a Disney movie. Only instead of Belle helping the Beast after his battle with wolves, it’s Darcy and the Ex-Assassin.

Of course he acted like he didn’t feel it, or rather he’d been conditioned not to respond to feeling it which made her nauseous all over again for a whole new bunch of reasons. Using those white sticky-tape thingies (definitely qualified to give out first aid here) to close the wound as best she could she added a patch of gauze and carefully taped that down as well. She had no clue what she was doing, operating under the assumption that the lack of heavy blood flow was good, the wound needed to be closed for it to heal and that covering it would help keep away infections.

“You really should get stitches for that,” she huffed smoothing the last piece of tape in place. He fixed her with a glare that told her he thought she was overreacting, and that if he remembered how to he’d be rolling his eyes at her.

“Fine,” she lifted her hands in mock surrender reaching for the cloth to start work on his metal arm. “Don’t go blaming me though if it gets infected and falls off like the other one.”

She did not need Steve making a strangled sort of noise behind her to know that _that was one of the most stupid things she could have said_. Of course Darcy’s brain to mouth filter had never really been very functional, and apparently even it didn’t have enough sense of self-preservation to not either anger or traumatize the not entirely stable ex-assassin.

Because she just couldn’t freaking help herself, she glanced up to see his reaction, surprised that he looks neither enraged or like a basket case. In fact he was still staring down at her in confusion, head cocked to the side like a puppy as he watched her fumble trying not to blush under the scrutiny.

His gaze was just so intense, staring straight through her. Without thinking (because in all honesty, what in the last hour has lead anyone to believe Darcy thinks before she acts?) she started wiping the blood and grime off of the metal arm.

Where before he refused to acknowledge pain, his entire body flinched away from the touch of her hand against the cool metal. She hoped it wasn't some sort of sensory receptor issue, and she severely hoped that the wet cloth wasn't a bad idea against the electronics.

When she snuck another glance he didn’t look like he was in any pain, if anything the look he was sending the metal arm bordered on revulsion. Like he was disgusted that she would even let it touch her. The sickening feeling in her gut tightened as sadness swept through her. She knew what he saw when he looked at the arm, she could see it reflected in his eyes. It’s a symbol, of what he’d become, what he did. She knows he’s not Bucky Barnes, at least not the way Bucky Barnes used to be, but he’s got enough of his old self back to understand that the acts he committed as the Winter Soldier horrify him. She’d never felt sorrier for someone in her entire life.

Though nowhere near his level of awful, she could understand what it was like to have your power taken away, to be torn down until you don’t even recognize yourself anymore and made to do things that make you want to be sick because there is no other way to survive.

Keeping her face as neutral as she could Darcy cleaned the arm with the same level of care as she did his flesh one. There were one or two dents and a few scrapes that seemed mostly cosmetic though she could hear a few gears grinding when she shifted it, and not in the healthy way gears are supposed to.

Her technological leanings were more towards computers than mechanics, so she took mental note of as much as she could to tell Tony. She now knew better than to ask Mr Scowl if he would like someone to look at the arm, this way she could at least tell Steve if there was anything serious that needs fixing.

When she’d finished she rinsed the cloth in the bowl, the water slowly turning a dirty reddish brown. Slipping off of the bench she put a hand to his chest when he made to follow.

“Hold your horses dude,” fixing him with a stern look, she grabbed the bowl. “I just need to change the water, I’m not done with you yet.”

More than a little surprised that he would listen to her she had to blink several times when he merely shuffled back onto the bench, patiently watching her as she hurriedly changed the water and grabbed a new cloth.

When she sat back down she had to take a steadying breath before beginning to wipe away the black paint smeared around his eyes. She tried to focus on the act of gently removing the greasy stains, ignoring the way his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on her as she worked.

The familiarity of the situation sent painful stabs of grief through her, and she tried to keep her emotions off of her face, fighting down the memories that the simple task dragged up. How many times had she done this for him? He always missed a spot near his hair line and there would be a faint sheen of grey left if he did it himself. Their eyes were almost identical, which is what made her pause, cloth hovering close to his skin.

They were the same stormy grey, almost blue even, with the swells and shadows of fatigue. She didn’t realize how long she had been staring until Barnes nudged her hand where it was frozen in front of his face. Finally taking in his expression as she stared at him she noted that his brows were furrowed as he silently watched her. Moving slowly he reached towards her, pressing one finger to the line on her forehead from her frown, before running it across in a gentle stroke. He let it fall back into his lap almost immediately, pulling it in against his stomach like it had acted without his permission, but the silent question was still there as he looked at her.

“Don’t mind me,” she cleared her throat, embarrassed at how croaky her voice had become. “Just remembering… a long time ago, doing this for someone else.”

Barnes was a reverse image almost. Instead of naive youth obvious among an aged face with sun darkened skin and light golden hair, his face was quite young, though she would guess a few years older than her, and pale, with dark features. There was such an old quality to it, the byproduct of seeing the worst humanity had to offer whilst living years longer than he should have. Unlike childish wonder hiding in the face of an older man, Barnes wore a young man’s face, ravaged by time and seeped in the truth of the world.

Darcy watched him cock his head to the left, as if sensing there was more to it than that. Taking a shuddering breath she returned to wiping his face clean.

“He’s not around anymore,” it’s barely a whisper and for a second she thought he might not have heard it, but then he nodded, eyes dropping in understanding. Shaking herself slightly she dropped the now black cloth into the bowl of water, using one of the gauze pads to lightly pat his face dry.

“There,” she smiled waiting until his gaze returned to hers before continuing. “Now we can see that handsome face.”

Resisting the urge to pat him on the cheek, she settled for throwing him a wink. Whilst he had tolerated her cleaning him off and patching him up she had no doubt that if she went any further now that she was clearly done he would most likely throw her through a wall.

“When I was a kid,” she began, picking up the remnants of her foray into the medical sciences. “My doctor used to give me a lollipop when I went in for a checkup, usually as a reward for not crying when I got given a shot or something. I highly doubt the med team have candy stashed here, but since you were so chill – with me at least – you can have Stark’s other coffee.”

Not waiting to see if he took it she slid off of the bench, she turned to find somewhere to dispose of everything and then hopefully get the frick frack out of doge. The hand falling onto her shoulder had her freezing immediately.

The touch was gentle, and when she turned to face him she had the crazy thought that he might break his current silence. A thank you, or sorry I almost strangled you to death would have been nice. Heck, she would have accepted a completely out of the blue declaration of undying love for the star-spangled worry wart in the corner.

Instead he held out his hand, a small handgun and a scary-ass looking knife resting flat against his palm.

“Um…thanks,” she held out her own hand, no clue what she was supposed to do with them but seeing it for what it was. This was the Winter Soldier handing over his last weapons, his last line of defense, from wherever the hell he had stashed them (there was no way they would have brought him to the tower armed, even before he started tossing the staff about). This was a world renowned assassin accepting her help and trusting that she was not going to try to kill him. Which was probably the closest to saying thanks as he knew how to get.

But by the time she was out in the hallway handing them over to the anxiously waiting security team that had joined the medical staff Steve had booted out, the adrenaline of the last forty minutes seemed to wear off.

The only thing running through her mind was the fact that she could have quite easily been killed over a dozen times.

She had just put band-aids on the Winter Soldier’s scrapes, forced caffeine upon him, and made a horrendously inappropriate joke about his missing limb. Which was why, the second she was alone in the corridor, she collapsed onto her butt, stuck her head between her knees, and tried to hyperventilate her way through a panic attack.

*

It was Tony who found her curled into a tight ball in a deserted corridor. Her breathing had returned to normal a few minutes ago, now she was just resting her head on her knees with her eyes screwed shut. She could hear footsteps as someone approached her but did not look up.

“Jesus woman, I send you for beverages and you wind up rehabilitating Red Square.”

The sound of Tony Stark did not make her want to uncurl so she stayed exactly where she was, not caring if he could make out what she was saying.

“I also drank your coffee,” her mumbled into her jeans.

“I don’t know if that’s something I can forgive,” she could hear the shit eating grin he had plastered on his face.

“Given that I almost just had my head literally ripped off of my body, I think I can live with the disappointment.”

For whatever reason, the sound of him laughing at her helped. Finally looking up she managed a weak smile at him. He was leaning against the wall across from her arms folded across his chest with what she recognized as her purse hanging in the crook of one of his elbows. She had left it in the lab with him and Jane, only having needed her phone and his platinum card to get the coffees earlier.

“Up you get Nurse Betty,” he sighed, extending a hand to help her clamber to her feet. “Run-ins with brainwashed ex-assassins earn you an early minute.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t count when quitting time was about an hour before you sent me for coffee,” she smirked taking her purse. “And you’d have to be my boss to send me home early, which you are most definitely not.”

“My company, I’m definitely your boss.”

“Hill is my boss,” she reminded him for what felt like the umpteenth time, which was ridiculous given that she’d only had to interact with him in the line of duty four times. “Dealing with you is just one of those unfortunate things involved in working for her.”

“Steal a man’s coffee and then roundhouse kick him in the ego,” he hand was pressed flat against the part of his chest where humans usually kept their hearts. “You’ve been spending time with Romanoff haven’t you?”

By the time he’d walked her to the elevator she was definitely feeling a lot better, enough so to turn down his offer to have someone drive her home. “I don’t know who, but there has to be someone I can pay.”

“Now you’re just trying to sound like an entitled asshole,” rolling her eyes she stepped into the elevator.

“You seem to like scolding me for it,” he shrugged, face unnervingly bashful as he smiled at her.

It was one of the sweetest things he’d ever said to her, as messed up as it was.

A lot closer to crying than she had been before when the assassin had her by the throat she forced a smile and said goodnight before the doors slid closed.

Of course her good mood evaporated completely before she’d even made it to street level, her nerves not as recovered as she had thought. There was a hollow sort of panic reverberating through her chest as she exited through the darkened lobby, the white-knuckled death-grip she had on her purse strap tightening as she heard the door shut behind her.

It was dark, it was raining and the usually busy New York street was almost completely deserted. Definitely not helping her increasing sense of panic.

Statistically speaking the chances of anything happening to any normal human being not two hours after a near death experience were pretty slim, which in all honesty was not in the least bit reassuring. Knowing her luck that meant that the chances of something happening to her had probably increased exponentially.

Not twenty feet from the building, and now soaking wet because of course, _of course_ , she didn’t have her umbrella with her, she felt more than heard someone behind her. The rain pounding down on the sidewalk was way too loud for anyone who hadn’t been shot up with crazy magic serums to make out anything like footsteps, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up and not because of the ice water soaking through her clothes and trickling between her boobs.

She chanced a glance at the windows to her right, only able to make out a dark shadow that was definitely gaining on her. Why was this street so poorly lit? It was like a horror movie waiting to happen. Jesus Christ, she was going to be stabbed or kidnapped by what was – knowing her luck – some sort of megalomaniacal super villain. Like she was the blonde bimbo who just _had_ to investigate the mysterious noise coming from the basement, even though she _knew_ there was a serial killer with a penchant for theatrics terrorizing the town.

Not fucking likely. There was no way she was going out like that. She was not Drew Barrymore in the opening of _Scream_. She was Drew Barrymore circa _Charlie’s Angels_ , though sans the noughties fashion. Which was why, when a heavy palm landed on her shoulder she spun and shoved her Taser into the guy’s crotch and let him have it. When asked about it later she was resolutely choosing to leave the high-pitched shriek she let loose out of it. Someone who was channeling one third of an elite crime-fighting team backed by an anonymous millionaire did not cry out like a banshee.

Her wannabe Michael Myers grunted in pain before collapsing in a heap. It wasn’t until she was staring down at the twitching guy (tasing people when they are soaking wet? Probably not a solid plan, she’s lucky she didn’t electrocute herself) lying in a puddle on the ground that she realized that not only was he not a potential psycho, she actually knew him.

She swore loudly, dropping to her knees beside him, hands fluttering over his prone form, not entirely sure what to do to help.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she was mostly just patting him ineffectually all over his chest which, _hello_.

“’S fine,” he groaned, curling protectively around his junk. “Probably shouldn’t’ve snuck up on you. Christ that hurts.”

She let out a slightly hysterical sound that could have been a laugh but was most likely a very inarticulate way of asking the universe to just kill her now.

“Meant to give you this,” he held out a crumpled and dripping scrap of paper. She stared down at the now-barely legible note, soaking wet and little more than a completely unreadable mess of ink.

“Should I get help?” she asked, at a loss for what to do as he let out another muffled grunt of pain, now almost completely fetal.

“No,” he managed a grimace. “Just need a minute.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Said its fine,” his eyes were now closed. “’Sides, I hear you only taze the really awesome Avengers.”

Because yes, Darcy “ _fuckmyluck_ ” Lewis had just tazed Clint “Hawkeye” Barton in the balls.


	2. Because Towels Were the Highlight of This Year's Fashion Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy was fine, she could hear every word the good doctor was saying with an almost startling clarity. It was Katerina Debrofkowitz that was having a panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's kudos'd, commented, subscribed, etc. You guys are so flipping awesome. I haven't ever posted a lot, so it's still a little surreal to think that there are actually people out there who read it. 
> 
> This is unbetaed, sorry for any mistakes.

The first time that Clint ever laid eyes on Darcy Lewis was of course on assignment in Puente Antiguo. He’d read through hers and Foster’s files on the drive down, basic stuff: age, parents, hometown, several of those creepy-paparazzi-stalker-type photos that SHIELD love to use in these things. Shots of her buying coffee, walking to class, out with friends.

After meeting with Coulson at the site he was told to do some follow-up observations on the scientists they had stolen from earlier that day. Sorry, the scientists from whom they had legally and politely confiscated equipment and information imperative to the protection of the world.

She had been lying on the roof of an old car dealership with a drunk Dr Foster (though she herself appeared sober) yelling abuse at the sky over “jack-booted thugs” stealing their shit and some very creative (read: fucking _terrifying_ ) threats about what they were planning on doing to do to Coulson were he to show his face again. At least he’s assuming Jane was referring to Coulson when she was talking about Mr Suity-Dick-Face in slurred tones. (Four hours later when he was delivering his report to Coulson he couldn’t quite contain his smirk relaying the nickname)

He caught sight of her several times over the days that followed, running to the diner to get coffee for everyone, working late at night on her laptop when the others were sleeping. So far she was your basic college student, seemingly competent when it came to working with Jane (though given the fact they’d just had all of their research and equipment taken, he couldn’t be too sure) young, pretty, and with no real long-term plans like most people (himself included).

He was not there to get to know her, she was just another mark to observe on his never ending cycle of missions, no different than most of the civilian marks before. So at the time he didn’t really want to get to know her, he wanted to wrap this up so he could take his mandated five days leave, curl up on his sofa with Lucky and binge watch the two seasons of Dog Cops waiting on his Tivo.

It wasn’t until the Destroyer attacked that he even paid any attention (beyond what was necessitated by the mission parameters) to her. He’d been in town getting breakfast when the Destroyer landed and incinerated a few SHIELD vehicles, half asleep in his waffles and waiting for his second cup of coffee to kick in. The coffee was unnecessary in the end, nothing wakes you up like a call from your boss telling you an unidentified giant fire-breathing robot was about to flatten Main St.

He was out the door and halfway up a building before the Destroyer hit, reporting everything to Coulson and feeling naked without his bow (not that it would have done much, besides the cosplay enthusiasts that were fighting seemed to have it mostly under control).

That was when he first noticed Darcy, actually noticed her, beyond a series of facts and figures in a file. Because whilst there were buildings on fire, people screaming and running, whilst a bunch of people dressed like vikings were fighting the giant fire-breathing robot thing, there she was practically vibrating with adrenaline and fear, talking out loud to herself as she evacuated the pet store.

There was something about a person who was willing to risk their lives to save a bunch of animals from certain death that made Clint want to pay attention.

Of course after the Destroyer was taken out, Thor had disappeared in a giant swirly rainbow into the sky and Clint had been sent home. Coulson stayed to recruit the scientists, and though he didn’t know it at the time Darcy as well. Clint had returned to his building in Brooklyn, eaten his weight in pizza, and then gone back to work.

He didn’t actually see her again for a few years, distracted by having a megalomaniacal demigod play puppet master with his brain and the revelation that the company he worked for was secretly run by a neo-Nazi terrorist organisation.

So the first time he physically interacted with Darcy Lewis was last night. She had bruising on her neck, blood on her shirt, was soaking wet and had tasered him in the balls. Which is why he’d spent the night on Tony Stark’s couch, far too tender to walk back to his place and way too freaked out by the fact that Stark had apparently built each of them an entire floor-sized apartment to actually go near it.

(Issues, Stark had more of them than Playboy)

Besides, Clint had a post getting-the-shit-kicked-out-of-him ritual. It involved beer, pizza and letting Lucky drool all over him on his piece of crap couch. Lucky wasn’t here, and the couch he had been sleeping on probably cost more than every piece of furniture in his apartment, but Stark had a wet bar in the common area with a fridge filled with fancy imported beer and a plethora of hipster micro-brews, so it was as close as he was going to get.

Sometime later he might even hobble down to Medical and see if there would be any permanent damage but for now he was going to watch early morning cartoons and gingerly hold a bag of ice to his junk.

He was getting way too involved in an episode of _Ben 10_ when Thor came in balancing a plate piled with waffles and bacon in one hand and holding an entire pot of coffee in the other. Thor wasn’t the least bit freaked out that Stark was offering him an enormous apartment rent-free, he’d moved right on in the second he was back in the states.

“My lady Jane and I were informed of your current predicament, she suggested I bring you sustenance," he was willing to overlook the smirk Thor had playing on his lips as he took in Clint, lying prone and cradling a cold pack to his groin, because he had brought Coffee.

Sweet nectar of the Gods, almost literally, given who was delivering.

Clint was halfway through his waffles when Tony came wandering in, talking on what he hoped was a hands free headset for a phone call and not just the eccentric billionaire conversing with himself.

Thor had sat down on one of the other couches and was helping himself to Clint’s coffee (Clint couldn’t be too mad though because waffles) and when Tony had pulled the tiny thing out of his ear (effectively hanging up on whomever he had been talking to) he perched on the back of Clint’s couch.

They sat in silence for a moment, watching Ben defeat aliens or whatever he was battling this week, before Tony also helped himself to some of Clint’s coffee.

“Dude!” he cried, reaching forward and pulling the pot from Tony’s grasp. “Stealing a man’s coffee when he’s incapacitated is a low blow, even for you.”

“I still can’t believe you got taken down by a civilian,” Tony smirked, heading over to the coffee machine near the bar and fiddling with the controls.

“I would not mock,” interjected Thor before Clint could speak. “Darcy and her weapon of choice are quite formidable.”

“I’d like to see you take a couple thousand volts to the family jewels,” Clint added. “See how well you fair.”

“Well you could always press charges,” Tony smirked at him. “I’m almost certain that it’s illegal to carry a taser in New York, so she might even get arrested and you would be safe from her-”

“Sir,” interrupted Jarvis, his smooth British accent pausing briefly before informing them. “Miss Lewis is on her way up and she is notably upset.”

“Upset?” Tony asked frowning in confusion.

“ANTHONY EDWARD STARK!”

Tony winced at the use of his full name, turning to face the elevator doors. Darcy was striding purposely towards them glare firmly in place and what looked like a shoebox in her hands. Her hair was wet, and she didn’t have any makeup on, in fact she was wearing what looked suspiciously like a fluffy purple towel with her coat and a pair of boots thrown on over the top.

Darcy lived ages away, Brooklyn in fact. She rode the subway to and from work each morning, he knew this for a fact because he’d seen her on there one night working on her Stark issued tablet. (He absolutely did not follow her on when he saw her leaving the building just before him, and he certainly did not spend the entire journey trying to work up the courage to go and talk to her)

And apparently she’d been angry enough to make the entire journey dressed in her towel.

“What the fuck is this?” her voice was quiet, though the anger was still there simmering beneath the surface. She shook the box at Tony taking a step forward and causing him to reflexively take a small step back.

“It’s a box.” He couldn’t decide if Stark was being brave or a complete idiot, though statistically the latter was more likely.

“Why did I find it in my apartment?” her fingers were gripping the box tightly enough that he could see the whites of her knuckles. “You’re the only one stupid enough and rich enough to do something like this.”

“I don’t understand the problem! You did a good thing yesterday and I was just trying to say thank you.”

“Then use your words like a normal human!” she growled.

“Normal people buy thank you presents too!” he was verging on sounding like an argumentative teen. “I’ve seen them at it.”

“Normal people don’t buy outrageously expensive gifts and then have someone _break into their apartment while they are in the shower to give it to them_!” Tony backed up slightly as she spoke, gesticulating with the box violently enough that even Thor looked ready to duck for cover. “Take them back I can’t accept this.”

“Too late, _Monsieur Louboutin_ has a very strict returns policy,” shrugged Tony.

Clint’s eyes widened, finally noticing the brand name printed on the side of the box. He may not know much, but he’d spent enough time around Kate to understand the gravity of the name, and how much money Tony would have to have forked out for them. Then again, this was the man who had remodelled an entire building to accommodate for a bunch of people he’d known for all of a week.

Darcy apparently had nothing to say to that, looking at Tony like she was about two seconds away from beating him to death with the shoe box. "Look, keep them, toss them, donate them to a charity for all I care,” pulling out his phone and tapping away, his attention – as it was prone to do – already directed elsewhere. “Or you know you could just say ‘you’re welcome Tony’. Isn’t that what _normal people_ respond to a thank you with?”

He flashed her one of his shit-eating grins on his way to the elevator, “And correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you due to start work, in about twenty minutes? Pretty sure you are not adhering to the business dress-code we enforce at Stark industries.”

Darcy blinked several timebefore looking down, as if she had no clue she was wearing not very much at all. By the time she looked back up the elevator was already on the way down.

There was a moment when none of them said anything, Thor and Clint silently watching Darcy watch the numbers displayed above the elevator as it went down. As someone who had spent several days observing her, he was certain he could picture _exactly_ what her face looked like, as if electricity was about to flow from her eyes like her taser.

“Is Jane at home?” she asked Thor, not turning to look at him.

“The last that I checked she was,” Thor frowned.

“If I may,” Jarvis interrupted. “Dr Foster has already commenced work in her laboratory.”

Clint watched Darcy’s shoulders slump slightly before she began walking towards the elevator.

"Jarvis take me to her floor and let her know that I’m stealing some of her clothes for the day.”

“Right away Miss Lewis,” the AI responded.

“And I’m mad at you for letting Tony escape.”

Clint couldn’t hear Jarvis’ response as the elevator doors closed. He threw a look at Thor who merely shrugged before returning his attention back to the TV, which honestly, summed it up pretty astutely, because he didn't have a clue what to make of any of it either. 

Though, looking back on his previous interactions with her, he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting.

*

Bucky’s memory may be riddled with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese but he’s still pretty sure that he can count the number of times he won an argument against Steve on his fingers, and this morning was one of them.

The thought filled him with a weird combination of pride and the desire to perform some sort of victory lap. He wasn’t actually going to, but it was oddly reassuring knowing that some part of him wanted to, the human part of him. Because that was the whole point, _Bucky_ was feeling these things, he was more James Buchanan Barnes than he was Winter Soldier.

He had been for a while now, his old self clawing his way back as the serum slowly healed his brain and memories started trickling in after he nearly beat Steve to death on the Helicarrier.

That’s not to say the Winter Soldier is gone, a part of him knows he never will be. But the way he’s figured it out, even before he finally allowed Steve’s friend - Dr “seriously you can just call my Bruce” Banner - to take a look, was that the Soldier was never a full person.

Once Hydra had gotten around to wiping all traces of Bucky from his own brain they only filled it with the bare essentials. The Winter Soldier was skills and abilities and training, he was a weapon and weapons didn’t need any sort of character, he just needed instructions before they wound him up and let him go.

They had tried once before, back when the cold of Russian winter was all he knew.

The Red Room wanted a patriot, someone to fight for the mother country and train their tiny soviet assassins, someone with beliefs and goals and ideals (preferably the ones they rammed down his throat). They soon learned from that mistake, and Vanya was wiped from existence with the flick of a switch and hours of electricity ripping through his brain.

But he was Bucky barnes once more, retaining all of the skills and muscle memory of the Soldier, along with recollections of his seventy years of service, and the added memories from before seeping in to fill the gaps. Memories of Brooklyn and Steve and a family he knew deep down were already long dead.

It was Bucky that decided he wasn’t ready to see Steve, not until every Hydra spider-hole was reduced to ash. He may have used the Soldier’s programming to achieve his goal but for once it was Bucky behind the wheel. It was Bucky deciding what to burn and when, and it was Bucky who decided when they were done, when it was time to leave the Winter Soldier behind and let Steve bring him in.

He thought it would be a very long time before he had need to call on the Soldier again. But, as with most things, he didn’t really have a say in the matter.

All it took was room full of medical equipment and people in lab coats for the panic to set in. One minute he was in the throes of hyperventilating and the next the Soldier had all but pushed him to the background, firmly taking the wheel.

There was always going to be a part of him that feared the chair more than anything else, a part that was terrified of being erased once more. It was his fucked-up brain’s attempt at self-defence, drawing the Soldier forward to deal with the immediate threat, throwing doctors around like rag dolls before taking the girl hostage and nearly snapping her neck.

She was the only reason Bucky had been able to slowly fight for control. Helping the Winter Soldier like he was a person, showing him the type of kindness he had not seen in his half-existence, treating his wounds and giving him coffee.

It wasn’t until after she had left that Bucky was fully in control, having to watch like a passenger in his own body for the entire ordeal, but even the Winter Soldier was not immune to genuine compassion. Suspicious of it, yes, but still able to be drawn in by it. It was the Soldier who had handed over their last weapons (both stolen the moment they were safely in the building) the only way he knew to show his gratitude, his trust.

Her name had been Darcy, he remembered enough to know that. He remembered enough to know that she was either really brave or incredibly stupid (at the same time he remembered enough about Steve to know that the two weren’t mutually exclusive).

Bucky wanted to apologise to Darcy, mostly for nearly killing her, and also so a small selfish part of him could prove to her that he wasn’t a mindless killing machine, not any more. Which was why he was hiding in the office adjacent to the one she worked in on one of the many floors of Avengers’ Tower that housed Stark Industries.

Steve was in plain sight, waiting for her to approach so he could apologise and invite her to lunch before Bucky revealed himself. Steve didn’t think Bucky should hide, the main point of their argument (that Bucky had _won_ , he wasn’t above being smug about it).

Bucky had told him he did’t want to scare her, he wanted Steve to be able to say sorry and give her the chance to accept it without the threat of the guy who nearly killed her looming in the background. She could accept Steve’s apology and politely refuse lunch if she wanted,and if she did Bucky would make an effort to not cross her path in the future. She had every right to take that option, she should be afraid of him.

If she wasn’t though, if she said yes, then he had a chance to make a better impression and was secure in the knowledge that she was there because the wanted to be, not because he bullied her into coming.

So here he was, hiding in an unoccupied office with a perfect view of Steve in the corridor but concealed enough that Darcy would not be able to see him.

He heard her arrive before he saw her, the ding of the elevator ringing out before she strode into view. Steve had heard her too (his ears as enhanced if not more so than Bucky’s) his posture straightening before she rounded the corner. Darcy however did not see him, eyes focused on the screen of her phone as she muttered angrily under her breath, quiet enough he couldn’t make out what she was saying but loud enough he could recognise the tone.

She certainly looked flustered, hair tied back loosely in a mess of a bun and held in place by what looked suspiciously like a pencil. He face was lacking the bright lipstick she had worn last night, her clothes very different to what he had been expecting.

There was a part of Bucky’s brain that would constantly be observing his surroundings, looking for exits and things to use as weapons, examining everyone in the vicinity to determine their threat levels, paying closer attention to every single detail than most normal people. As hard as it had been to focus on them at the time he could recall with near perfect clarity every detail about her appearance last night, the kinds of clothes she wore, how she styled her hair. Hell, give him twenty minutes in a department store and he could find the exact shade to match what she had painted on her lips.

This meant that he had an image in his mind, and assessment of her personality based not only on how she spoke and acted around him (which revealed a lot, she was so clearly a civilian, without training in how to hide those parts of herself) but the physical aspects of how she presented herself too. He was prepared for that Darcy, the one who even though she was clearly freaking out had decided to help, who told awful jokes and made references he did not fully understand as a way of dealing with nerves, the one who even though she was dressed for an office environment had managed to inject her own personality into her clothing.

That was the Darcy that was more likely to brush off any apologies and join them for lunch. Seeing her like this, irritated and on edge, wearing a dress that was plain and black (and clearly not hers if the way that it stretched slightly too tight across the curves of her hips and breasts was any indication) he was hit with a slew of confusing emotions. He felt wrong-footed and slightly tricked, which was a blow to his ego that he tried to ignore, the fact that this civilian had managed to pull one over on him, like she took one look at his pre-conceived notions and decided she would do the complete opposite just to throw him off.

But what surprised him most was the concern. He wanted to know why she was angry and in someone else’s clothes, why she looked like she wanted to simultaneously punch someone and yell profanities at the sky. He didn’t even know her, he had no clue why the impulse to ask her if she was ok was so strong. All he could think of was flashes of the night before, when she’d been gently cleaning the black off of his eyes and her face kept flashing with grief and pain she had no training in concealing.

It was the Soldier who had reached out and touched her, silently asking, but now it was Bucky who wanted an answer.

Darcy was still mumbling to herself as she foraged through her purse for something, not noticing Steve until she’d nearly ploughed into him.

“Shit! Sorry I-” she stopped instantly upon catching sight of Steve, her eyes bugging slightly as they rose to meet his. “I just swore in front of Captain America.”

Bucky could tell the words had slipped out without any consent from the rest of her, if the way her eyes bugged out even _more_ from behind her glasses and the light pink blooming across her cheeks was anything to judge by.

“Please, it’s Steve,” Bucky watched him run his hand across the back of his head, a nervous habit he’d always had when talking to women, even after he transformed into a Greek statue. “And I _was_ in the military for several years. I’ve heard more curses than you could imagine in more languages than you’d believe.”

"Right," she stared a moment longer before visibly shaking herself, blinking a few times before meeting Steve’s eyes again and smiling at him. “Right, let’s try that again. Hi, what can I do for you Captain Rogers?”

“Well firstly you really can just call me Steve,” the stupid punk was blushing, he couldn’t see it but Bucky just _knew_ it was staining his cheeks red as he ducked his head to glance at his shoes.

“Right, Steve, sorry,” she glanced up at the ceiling while Steve was busy staring at his feet and Bucky’s pretty sure she mouthed something along the lines of “what even is my life?” before returning her attention back to the super soldier in front of her. “So what brings you here? Did you need to set up an appointment with Ms Hill?”

“No ah, actually, I came to speak to you.”

“Me?” Bucky would have laughed at the absolutely floored expression on her face if he wasn’t trying not to give his hiding spot away.

“I, well,” Steve only fumbled for a moment before stilling and Bucky knew exactly what the ridiculously sincere expression he was wearing looked like even if he could only see the back of his head. “Firstly I wanted to say thank you, for last night. What you did was very stupid and so dangerous-” (Bucky had to fight to hold back a snort at that, as if Steve’s middle name wasn’t I-can’t-be-within-a-hundred-yards-of-something-dangerous-and-stupid-without-trying-it-at-least-twice) “-but you didn’t have to help Bucky and you did, and for that I’ll never be able to thank you enough."

She was squirming a little under the weight of his sincere puppy expression. He could sympathise, knowing first hand what it was like when those giant blue eyes looked at you like you were something special, like you'd done the most amazingly wonderful thing, and he couldn't believe you were real. It made you want to confess every bad thing you'd ever thought or done, just so you could prove you didn't deserve to be looked at like that.

He could tell the second Steve's expression shifted, watching as the weight of it was lifted from Darcy's shoulders.

"Secondly I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, well how sorry we both are, that you got dragged into it at all.”

“Honestly its pretty par for the course given my luck,” she interrupted rolling her eyes slightly before focusing back on Steve with a sincere smile of her own. “But I’m really glad I could help.”

He watched Steve reach out and gently grip her hand, silently thanking her once more.

“So he’s ok?” she was peaking shyly back up at Steve, occasionally glancing away. “I didn’t give him septicaemia or anything? He really needs to get stitches in his shoulder.”

“He’s fine, we heal pretty fast with the serums, different as they are. We managed to get Bruce to take a look and he says everything’s healing ok.”

“I’m glad,” she nodded, seeming to say something that Bucky didn’t understand but Steve did without saying anything at all.

“I was actually wondering if we could take you to lunch? Sort of as a thank you, but Bucky would like to introduce himself and maybe give a better impression this time.”

“He did a better job than I usually do,” she scoffed. “At least he didn’t taze anyone.”

“Taze?” Steve’s tone was nonplussed.

“Thor when he first landed and well, I may have gotten Barton last night,” she was blushing again, looking slightly to the right of Steve. There was a pause before Steve answered, and Bucky felt warm stab of pride (as he did when he remembered something about Steve) recognising the way Steve was holding himself now he was confused about whether he should laugh or not.

“Well I promise not to taze you if you won't,” he could hear the smile in Steve’s voice.

Darcy smiled shyly back at him before nodding, “I’d love to have lunch with you both. Just give me a second to freshen up a little, it’s kind of been a weird morning. I’ll also have to call Hill and let her know I’m headed out early.”

“I may have already cleared it with Maria and Tony.”

“Tony is not my boss,” there was a slightly dangerous edge to her tone that Steve evidently picked up on if his “Of course not” was anything to go by.

Darcy asked for ten minutes to get ready before slipping into her office. Once the door as safely shut behind her Bucky came out to stand next to Steve.

“Well that went well,” the blonde smiled, nudging him with his elbow.

“She doesn’t seem terrified of me at least,” he replied, seeing Steve frown slightly out of the corner of his eye before forcing a smile back onto his face.

“Well apparently she’s tasered an actual god, I think it takes a bit to rattle her.”

When Darcy came back out she had a red coat on over the dress and the same lipstick from the night before on again. He wondered idly if that’s what she’d been searching for in her purse. She didn’t seem surprised to see him, smiling brightly before asking Steve where they were going.

Steve wanted to take them to a diner near his apartment in Brooklyn. The way he talked about it as they rode the elevator down Bucky knew that Steve probably had eaten there a lot, chances were he knew every single one of the staff by name. It was comforting, going somewhere that even though he’d never been before Steve was at least familiar with.

To say that the comfortable silence that had fallen over them during the remaining floors had grown tense and awkward the closer they got to ground level was a bit of an understatement.

They shared a cab across the bridge to Brooklyn (Steve assuring Darcy that Hill had told them to take as much time as they needed for lunch) the three of them wedged in the back seat with Darcy squished between him and Steve. Bucky had ignored his chivalrous instincts telling him to hold the door open for Darcy and slipped into the cab first. He knew that they would fit more comfortably if Darcy sat in the middle and he wanted to make sure the metal arm was not the one she would have to be pressed against. No sense making her more nervous than she was already bound to be.

He felt a small stab of pleasure when he was proven right. She stared straight ahead for the entire journey, not saying anything unless it was in response to something Steve said. And weren’t those the worst attempts at small talk he’d ever heard, nearly ninety years old and Steve still couldn’t talk to people. Forget not talking to women, Steve couldn’t hold a normal conversation with a stranger half of the time. He wasn’t shy per say, just used to thinking he was too small and sickly for anyone to pay attention to so he had to say something worth noticing, then of course he didn’t think what he had to say was worth paying attention to so he generally didn’t say anything at all.

Don’t get him wrong, Steve could yell venom and obscenities at complete strangers when he thought they were in the wrong, and when he’d worked up the courage to speak to someone his inner sassy shit came out easily (he’d had the whole “on your left” story regaled to him not long after meeting Sam, Sam not hesitating to tease Steve when he admitted it had taken him two weeks of watching Sam jogging to work up the courage to say anything).

Captain America on the other hand spoke confidently and easily, giving orders and rousing speeches left right and centre. But even when Bucky didn’t have a clue who _he_ was, he never made the mistake of confusing Steve and the Captain.

He could tell Steve was feeling particularly nervous, he was always an open book that Bucky knew how to read long before he remembered how to do anything else. He wanted this second chance at a first impression for Bucky to go well and was trying really hard to give a good impression himself.

Darcy was still too nervous to be paying much mind anyway, he could feel the careful inhalations and exhalations as she tried to calm herself down from where she was pressed against his shoulder. Her leg (which was also pressed against him from hip to thigh) was bouncing up and down slightly and she was fidgeting with her hands, twisting the small silver ring on her finger round and round in an almost hypnotising motion.

When they finally made it to the little hole in the wall diner and piled out of the cab he wasn’t the only one revelling in great lungfuls of fresh air.

The diner was quiet, with only one other table occupied, given it was actually a little early for lunch. The middle-aged waitress smiled brightly at Steve and greeted him by name, her smile grew even wider when her eyes landed on him and Darcy, as if this was the first time Steve had come in with company. That thought left him with a feeling like a hit to the gut he didn’t really want to examine too closely.

He tried to make his own smile polite and charming, less like the grimace he was used to sporting as he shook her hand and introduced himself as James. Helen didn’t seem to mind, shaking his hand firmly and not sparing a second glance at the metal one.

“Darcy Lewis,” was how she introduced herself, and a small part of him felt relieved that he had something a little more formal to address her as when they finally spoke. He didn’t feel comfortable using something as familiar as Darcy, a combination of old manners and her clearly still being nervous around him, it was taking a liberty he knew he didn’t have any right to.

Helen led them over to a table in the back corner, with a small comment to Steve about his usual spot. She sat two menus on the side of the booth that backed the wall, the one with a full view of the entire room and all of the exits, and Bucky found himself feeling extremely grateful that she both knew that he and Steve would be most comfortable there but not to actually draw attention to it.

As they sat there waiting for Helen to return with their coffees Bucky found himself staring at Darcy as she removed her coat and scarf. It was the first good look he’d gotten at her where he wasn’t distracted by the scowl on her face. Now that he was looking he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dark marks around her neck, the deep purple bruising he knew for fact that if he lifted his metal hand and held it against them would be a perfect match.

Seeing them in up close he was finding it hard to actually look away. He knew it was rude to stare, he knew that she could see him staring, and honestly some part of him already knew that she would have some sort of mark from his less than gentle treatment of her last night. But knowing that and actually seeing the perfect impression of his grip are two completely different things.

His plan had been along the lines of trying to make the kind of impression that even though they might never actually be friends, if he ever saw her again she wouldn’t feel the need to run screaming in the other direction. Now however he felt like that would be no more than he deserves, she should scream at him, and be afraid of him, she should be telling others to be afraid of the soulless hydra killer with the robot arm.

Bucky could tell that Steve had noticed the bruises too. Could see him darting his gaze to Bucky’s face out of the corner of his eye as he blatantly stared at the damage he’d caused.

He'd been shaken out of his little spiral of self hatred by Darcy addressing him directly.

“…Since we didn’t get properly introduced last night. Hi, Darcy Lewis, assistant to Director Hill, wearing a dress that is so tight I can barely move and hoping you won’t hate me for the crack I made about your arm.”

Her hand was out in front of her, as an offering for him to shake it. But his eyes kept darting back to the bruising on her neck. She didn’t falter however, patiently smiling at him and keeping it held out like he hadn’t waited an uncomfortably long time to accept it.

“Seriously,” she was ducking her head, trying to get him to meet her eyes. “Its worse than it looks, I spend the majority of my time locked in an office or lab, no vitamin D, no Iron, pale skin. I bruise pretty easily.”

He still couldn’t shake her hand but he was starting to meet her gaze, if only for a few seconds at a time.

“Jane hit Thor with the RV the first time she met him. Twice,” she was outright grinning now. “And I electrocuted him. Now? They’re practically married and he’s like the big brother I never wanted. If you were looking to make friends that would be scared off by weirdly violent introductions you picked the wrong place. Jesus, I zapped Barton in the family jewels last night, he’s probably never going to walk right again.”

And without any permission from the rest of him he found the corners of his lips twitching up in a smile. She returned it easily, still holding her hand out in front of her even though he could tell her arm was tiring.

Finally, he reached out and took it, holding as gently as he could while he shook it softly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Lewis,” he mumbled softly.

He had’t spoken much in the last seventy years, so when he did it almost hurt, his vocal chords not used to the strain. Steve never minded, seeming to understand him perfectly well when he said nothing at all. When he did speak aloud he was rewarded with one of Steve’s brilliant smiles.

“Ew, Darcy please,” she grinned, before adding. “Miss Lewis was my father.”

Her smile was a perfect combination of friendly and teasing, like she didn’t care who he was, what he’d done, she was just going to keep on treating him like she did everyone else. The smile he gave in return didn’t feel as forced as it usually did.

*

Over the next month lunch with Steve and Bucky became a thing. Pretty much every day they ate together, the first few times going back to Steve’s diner (one of Steve's superpowers apparently was the ability to make Hill think that letting Darcy take three hour lunches four days in a row was a _good_ idea).

After Darcy pointed out that she did have work she probably should be doing they started trying places a bit closer to the Tower.

She took it upon herself to introduce the pair of them to as many different kinds of food as she could as Steve was really into trying new things, she discovered. They had been too poor to do so whilst they were growing up and even if they could afford to be exotic with their shopping his laundry list of health issues meant he had to be really careful with what he ate. Stomach ulcers, heart problems, diabetes, you name it and Steve probably had it.

He was excited to try indian food, asking the waitress for the spiciest thing on the menu and laughing good-naturedly along with them through the tears as he ate. He’d been mesmerised by the Korean barbecue, diving into a frank discussion with their chef as he demonstrated his skills. After his initial reservations sushi had become his favourite, they’d been to six different places in the last two weeks.

the second Wednesday Bucky had surprised her, turning up to her office with coffees and a couple of bagels. Steve had been called upstairs for “Avengers business” and would be busy for a few hours so the pair of them had curled up on the couch in her office, Bucky listening politely as Darcy lectured him about the correct order to view _Star Wars_ in.

Because they were still in her office she’d continued to take calls throughout, Bucky laughing as quietly as he could as Darcy gave the Secretary of Defence’s assistant the runaround. The asshole was still harassing Hill over the whole SHEILD fiasco even though she’d said her piece in several congressional hearings.

Darcy had been setting up appointments and rescheduling last minute, putting the guy’s poor assistant on hold for two hours after setting the music to instrumental jazz covers of Beyoncé songs, and even pretending to connect him to three of Hill’s other assistants and impersonating them as she continuously lied about even knowing who was calling in the first place.

That led to Bucky hanging out for the rest of the afternoon, following Darcy around the tower and listening to her complain about Tony.

Soon every time Steve had something to take care of Bucky would bring lunch to her, then spend the remainder of the day shadowing her as she worked.

She'dd had dinner at their place a few times. One weekend they watched the Indiana Jones trilogy, another Saturday she spent the entire afternoon at the Met, the pair of them giggling to themselves as Steve rambled on about this particular artist and that style of composition. By the end of the day there was a group of college aged kids following them, asking Steve questions and playfully arguing with him.

It was weird to think that a few weeks ago the pair of them were nothing more than historical figures she’d written essays about in the eighth grade and now they were two of her closest friends.

It was Friday night, well past when normal people left work and Darcy was just packing away her bag ready to head over to their place. The pair of them had been texting her all afternoon, arguing with each other through her about what they were going to watch even when she pointed out to them that they were literally in the same room as the other and should _use their words like a pair of grownups_.

Smiling to herself as she slipped her cell into her bag she was about to flick the lights off when the phone on her desk began to ring. She was seriously considering ignoring it. Chances were it was someone she did not want to speak to. The Secretary of Defence’s office could be calling now because it was late on a Friday night meaning they’d be interrupting what would usually be the start of her social weekend as some sort of revenge and even possibly blindsiding her enough to actually trick her into setting up an appointment. Or it could be Stark who had taken to calling her like she was his assistant and asking her to take care of something. When she refused he would whine that Pepper used to even after she pointed out that was because Pepper actually used to be his PA and that _she_ most definitely was not.

The whole being at his beck and all 24/7 was enough reason not to want to work for him, even without the other eight million reasons.

Groaning to herself she trudged back over to the desk, dropping her purse and picking the phone up from its cradle and sparing a glance for the caller ID. The area code wasn’t DC which ruled out the SoD, and it wasn’t local which didn’t rule out Tony (she wouldn’t put it past him to re-route his calls to trick her into picking up).

The only reason she answered in the end was because she did actually recognise the area code from where she used to live. Even recognising it, and wondering who of the very few people she still knew there would even know to call her here, she was not expecting the person on the other end.

“Darcy Lewis,” her tone was clipped and professional, still not entirely sure it wasn’t Tony but not wanting to start hurling insults in case it actually wasn’t.

“Hello Miss Lewis, it’s Dr Park. I’m sorry to be calling you so late, but this was the only number I could find to reach you at.”

She froze. It had been close to eight years since she’d seen Ellen Park. They’d met at the funeral, the good Doctor dressed in a tasteful black suit had introduced herself to Darcy and explained how she had known Arthur. They hadn’t ever really been friendly, court appointed psychologists didn’t really run in the same circle as people like her, but she had helped Darcy, first by recommending a facility for her to undertake rehab, and then by writing a glowing letter of recommendation that had made it possible for Darcy to go to college.

After that there wasn’t a reason for them to interact, hell she wasn’t even on the very short list of people Darcy sent Christmas cards to.

But she still worked for the courts, she still had a connection to Darcy’s past and a direct involvement in a lot of the legal proceedings that followed. There was only one reason that Ellen Park would go out of her way to be calling her.

“What happened?” Darcy’s voice was flat, her control over the panic threatening to overwhelm her hanging on by a thread.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, Dr Park knew as well as she did that there was no social pretence she could have for calling, she also knew that there was no point beating around the bush.

“Chuck Dooney has broken parole, he missed his scheduled check in and his landlord hasn’t seen him in two days. Captain Fairbanks thinks he may have left the city.”

And just like that Darcy’s whole world shattered.

“I only just found out that he’d been paroled early, about three months ago. Apparently he went through the mandated rehabilitation program and after years of being sober and good behaviour the board approved him," her voice was genuinely apologetic. "If I had known I would have warned you or the Carters.”

He’d been out for months, plenty of time to try and find her. Was he missing now because he had or because he’d given up?

“Darcy, are you alright?" her tone was concerned. "Can you hear me?”

Darcy was fine, she could hear every word the good doctor was saying with an almost startling clarity. It was Katerina Debrofkowitz that was having a panic attack. Acute fear was spilling through her body like molasses until all she could focus on was the sound of blood rushing in her ears and her laboured breaths in the otherwise silent office.

“Sorry," she finally managed to croak out. “I’m fine… Thanks for the call.”

And with that, almost robotically, she dropped the sleek black phone back onto its cradle, ignoring whatever Dr Park was saying And effectively hanging up on her.

Her hands were shaking, fine tremors that was slowly spreading to the rest of her body. She squeezed them into fists, trying desperately to make them stop. She needed to get a hold of herself.

This was nothing, this changed _nothing_. Kat Debrofkowitz may have had a reason to fear for her life, but she wasn’t Kat, not anymore. Katerina Debrofkowitz had died sixteen weeks after Arthur. Darcy Lewis had destroyed any trace of her.

*

_March, 2007_

She’d been living in the Carter’s spare room for a month now, moving in after her twelve weeks were up. She had been planing to return to the work shop, wanting to sleep in Arthur’s bed and look after his wasps and be surrounded by all of his stupid pieces of junk. That place had been the first real home she’d ever had and she hadn’t been ready to give it up just yet.

Wendy and Paul Carter had had other ideas.

Apparently the fact that it had basically been illegal for Arthur to have been living there in the first place meant that they had already seen to removing all of his things. They’d offered her their spare bedroom until she “got her feet under her again”.

It was mostly Mrs Carter’s doing, Mr Carter had made his opinion of her very clear when they’d found Arthur half-dead in an alley and rushed him to the hospital. He wasn’t openly hostile towards her now but she could tell he didn’t like the idea of the ex-junkie in his home.

Occasionally she’d catch him staring at her with something close to pity in his gaze, and it wasn’t’ until she overheard the arguing about her that she realised it was because he knew about her father.  After all, Arthur had been arrested for putting him in a garbage can.

The only person who didn’t treat her like she was broken or barely tamed was Jack. Mostly because he was ten and had been given the PG13 reason that Arthur’s friend would be staying with them, but also because she was the only one in the house willing to listen to him ramble on about whatever comic he was into at the moment or sit around for hours playing video games with him.

They’d been playing PS2 for the last three hours, some superhero game Darcy had never heard of. She would rather play the new GTA but stealing cars and shooting people was not something she was going to encourage the ten year old to try.

Jack was busy talking about secret identities, his obsession with the idea of superheroes had always been a thing, not helped by how close he’d been with Arthur. She listened idly as he chattered away about protecting people and being able to have a life at the same time. She oohed and ahed as he described what his alter ego would be, and was busy trying to stop a costumed thug from kidnapping an innocent bystander almost missing when he turned to her and said, “Maybe you should have a superhero name.”

“What?” she paused the game, turning to face him as he frowned at her seriously.

“You were like Defendor’s partner,” he was looking at her thoughtfully. “You should have your own name, that way the bad guys won’t really know who you are.”

“I’m no hero kid,” she smiled sadly, still unable to deal with the way he could talk about Arthur so easily, every time she so much as thought about him her lungs felt like they were seizing.

It was while she was up and heading to the kitchen to grab them a couple of Cokes that she realised even though he had been talking about calling herself something stupid like _Sarcastagirl_ (one of the only superpowers she had), Jack might be onto something.

She’d spent the majority of her life wishing she was someone else, somewhere else. If she had any say in the matter she would never have been Kat Debrofkowitz in the first place.

Now though, now she had a real chance for a fresh start, she could make her life whatever she wanted, be whoever she chose. It wouldn’t be as simple as picking a new name and legally having it changed, she didn’t want there to be a single trace of Kat at all. She wanted everything gone, to actually start completely fresh.

And as if the universe was saying that this was what she was meant to do, she’d made a friend in re-hab, or as close to a friend as you could get with another person going through the violent stages of enforced drug withdrawal. Through him she’d discovered a talent for computers she never knew she possessed, and he taught her a lot of ways to get what she wanted done that weren’t strictly by the book.

This however was beyond her skills, essentially erasing her entire existence and starting anew. Pulling her cell from her pocket she dialed, waiting patiently for the call to connect and trying to decide who she wanted to be now.

The possibilities were endless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're starting to get into the main premise of the story. The first few chapters are going to be a little choppy, I'm trying to set everything up as much as I can and give you some background Defendor stuff before jumping into the actual main bit. The Defendor stuff is pretty vague, so if you haven't seen it and need clarification I'm happy to answer any questions but hopefully it will become clearer as the story progresses.
> 
> The POV changes is something that will continue for the rest of the story. It's mostly going to be Darcy, as this is Darcy centric but occasionally things will be told in Bucky or Clint's POV, but it will only be the three of them.
> 
> I've got the whole thing planned out (almost embarrassingly over-detailed) so hopefully I'll be able to update every few days. I'm going to try my best not to take longer than a week. But well, I pretty much just jinxed myself with that one huh?


	3. One Third of an Elite Crime Fighting Team, Backed By a Not-So-Anonymous Billionaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was not panicking, ok? Yeah, her breathing comparable to that of a runner post marathon, and ok, her heart rate was elevated, the stupid muscle trying to beat its way out of her stupid chest. But she was definitely, 100%, straight up, not panicking.
> 
> She didn’t have reason to panic, she was Darcy Goddamn Lewis (much like how she called her Pepper Goddamn Potts because she was one of the most scarily competent people Darcy had ever encountered) and people with “Goddamn” in their names did not freak out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit later than usual. I work two jobs and this week was one of those super-fun ones where that meant working every single day, a few days twice a day. Doesn't really leave a whole lot of time for writing. I"m not going to promise the next chapter will be up on Wednesday like it usually is because that's basically just jinxing myself, but fingers crossed.
> 
> Couple of Star Wars references, and I stole a line from a Janet Evanovitch book of all things too. The chapter title is from Charlie's Angels (also referenced in the first chapter) with Clint, Darcy and Steve being the Angels to Tony's Charlie.
> 
> Trigger Warning for some references to past drug abuse and withdrawal towards the end, and some subtle prostitution references in the middle.

_November 2006_

It’s not quite winter yet, but the streets were definitely freezing. Kat’d never been more thankful for her puffy red coat than she had been in the last few weeks. Canada was cold as _balls_ basically all of the time and the last two years she’d been lucky to survive. Funnily enough, the abandoned buildings she'd chosen to squat in didn’t leave the heating on when they weren’t filled with paying tenants.

Of course last Christmas she’d gotten in with Radovan’s crew and though they treated the girls like complete shit, they fed them and it was always warmer sharing a bed with a Mob Boss.

The warehouse/workshop (or whatever the hell this building was) was not a large plantation home paid for by ill-gotten gains but it was a step up from an _abandoned_ warehouse/workshop. For one, there was a heater, it didn’t do much for the majority of the space but it did keep the small loft where the bed was slightly warmer than freezing. Also there was an actual bed, not just the contents of the satchel she carried everywhere for a pillow and her coat for a blanket.

Even though it was below zero however, by the time she made it back to their “Secret Base”, carrying three large boxes, she was slightly out of breath and a little more than slightly sweaty.

“Ok,” she huffed, dumping the boxes unceremoniously on the ground. “Next time, _you_ get to go and pick up the deliveries because the guy behind the counter was a total skeeze and I am _not_ built for hauling junk around.”

Unzipping her coat and kicking off her boots Kat grabbed the boxes again, taking them over to where Arthur was sitting on his bed nose buried in one of his absolutely awful comic books. Dropping them on the ground again she flopped back onto the bed, causing him to bounce slightly where he was sitting with his legs folded beneath him like a pretzel.

“So…” she began, rolling over onto her stomach and kicking her feet in the air. “What’s in all of the boxes?”

“Top secret, can’t tell you.”

The flash of hurt was unexpected, though by then she should have known better. It’s just… they’d been hanging out for a while now, hell, he’s one of the only people who knows her by her real name, who doesn’t just know her as Angel. It hurt knowing that even though she’d trusted him with that side of herself, with the truth, he still didn’t trust her in return.

She’d already opened her mouth to strike back with a venomous comment (because if there’s one thing she’s honed in her life it’s how to hit back where it hurts) when she noticed him hiding his face (badly) behind his comic book. He’d been trying to supress a smile (also badly) the edges twitching frequently. He’d been messing with her. Sarcasm was definitely contagious, he hadn’t been this much of a troll when they first met, so she’d brought this upon herself really.

“Dude,” she scolded, shoving his shoulder hard enough he nearly fell over, his laughter bubbling out. “Not cool.”

He’d been outright giggling by that stage, and it was getting easier and easier to laugh along with him.

“For reals though, what is this crap I just lugged halfway across the city?”

As they’d been unpacking the boxes of what were essentially toys, he’d tried his best to explain why each piece of equipment was essential to his mission. Listening devices and secret code rings, the most advanced item there was the microphone capable of picking up sounds up to 200 yards away. Even then though he called it something stupid to do with ray-guns and bats and ultra-sonic soundwaves.

After a while she’d gotten bored, flicking one of the Styrofoam packing beans at his face and hitting him in the forehead mid-sentence. It had devolved pretty quickly into an all-out war, the pair of them throwing the beans at each other, laughing loudly as they rolled around on the bed.

It had been the lightest she’d felt in forever. For once in her life, she’d felt like she was supposed to, just a stupid seventeen year old girl, laughing and smiling and messing around. Playing make believe with her best friend, pretending they were spies about to head off on a dangerous mission.

If only the danger had been make believe as well.

*

It was a beautiful day in Manhattan, sun out, slight breeze, lots of people walking (though not as aggressively and single-mindedly as they usually did – someone actually apologised to her after they bumped shoulders, smiling and genuine) and Darcy was striding along with them.

She was not panicking, ok? Yeah, her breathing comparable to that of a runner post marathon, and ok, her heart rate was elevated, the stupid muscle trying to beat its way out of her stupid chest. But she was definitely, 100%, straight up, _not panicking._

She didn’t have reason to panic, she was Darcy Goddamn Lewis (much like how she called her Pepper Goddamn Potts because she was one of the most scarily competent people Darcy had ever encountered) and people with “Goddamn” in their names did not freak out.

Darcy Goddamn Lewis tased Gods of thunder and super-spies. Darcy Goddamn Lewis faced down the Hulk, and fought crazy albino elves from outer space. She had been tackled out of a line of machine-gun fire by the Black Widow herself, and spent several moments with her face smooshed against the really uncomfortable zip that did up Natasha’s suit without suffocating. Thinking about it, she’d basically motor-boated her, one of the single most attractive and talented women in the known universe-

“Darcy what are you doing?” Steve’s voice interrupted her, sounding in the almost invisible communication device in her ear.

Ok, so perhaps she was panicking a little. Like at most, 12% of her was panicked right now. One thing she did when she was freaking out was talk to herself. Out loud.

“Giving myself a pep talk so I don’t completely lose my shit,” it came out like a question, and at a much higher pitch than she was entirely proud of.

Steve was nearly a block away from her in some sort of nondescript van straight out of a Bruckheimer blockbuster. Her usual glasses had been replaced by the super-spy kind, the ones that were secretly cameras that could transmit back to the bank of screens in Steve’s van in HD, and probably x-ray. Tony had designed them so they could probably see what people had on under their clothes, but also somehow could do it without effecting her prescription lenses. She had another camera disguised as a daisy pinned into her bun so Steve also had a panoramic view of behind her. Nestled deep in her ear was a microscopic comm-thingy. Flesh coloured and almost invisible, she was actually worrying a little that it would get stuck and she’d have Avengers whispering in her ear until either she died or the battery did.

“Well maybe stop,” he replied. “People are giving you weird looks as you pass them.”

“At least they knew _I_ knew I was talking to myself instead of someone who isn’t there, which is what it looks like now I’m talking to you.”

Unfortunately the glasses weren’t two-way, so she couldn’t see Steve reflected in the lenses, she could however hear him sigh and assumed he was rolling his eyes. She gets that reaction a lot actually, though it’s only fair given she spends about 80% of her time returning the favour.

“I don’t _do_ this ok?” she huffed, not whining because she said she wasn’t. “I don’t go on missions or go undercover where there is a high possibility the person I’m meeting could shoot me. I fetch people coffee and run errands for Hill, I argue with Tony and occasionally take away his toys; I’m basically a glorified baby sitter. Jesus I barely even started SHIELD’s mandatory self-defence class before they shipped me and Jane off to Tromsø and let me tell you, world renowned science hubs don’t exactly offer any hand-to-hand combat t-”

“ _Darcy_ ,” another thing she tended to do when she was nervous was ramble. “You need to take a breath.”

Doing as she was told she sucked in a great big gulp of air, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out.

“Why me Steve?” the question was spoken softly, but she knew he could hear her.

He sighed again before answering, “Because the only Avengers in the city right now are Clint, Tony and myself. Barton and I are about the last people you want futzing round with computers, no offence Clint.”

Clint was already in position at the café where the meet was supposed to take place, sitting in some tactically advantageous spot, drinking coffee and not reading the magazine or newspaper he probably had. He couldn’t actually reply to Steve, the café was crowded but small enough that someone would have noticed a guy talking to himself and (unlike the people throwing looks at Darcy) would have had time to listen to what he was actually saying.

“We can’t send Tony,” continued Steve. “He’s way too recognisable. Even if he wasn’t on TV all the time in the suit he’s still one of the biggest names in computing. You are the only person who is good with computers and has even the tiniest bit of experience. Besides, Maria suggested you, and I trust you.”

“Why doesn’t Hill do it then?” she grumbled.

“Because she’s kind of busy running the New York Offices of a multi-billion dollar company?” she could hear the smirk in his voice. “And before you even ask, Coulson’s team are in Egypt.”

Blowing out a huff of air she turned down the street the café was on. There weren’t as many people around, so she slowed her pace a little, not having to worry about causing a crazy pedestrian traffic jam, but also dawdling.

“You’ll be fine,” Steve’s voice was warm and filled with the kind of confidence and genuineness he was famous for. “Darce you’re smart, you’re quick thinking, and despite the whole talking to yourself thing you are good under pressure. When this guy starts in with the details you are our best chance of understanding anything. You can do this.”

Darcy had watched the 1998, two hour Spielberg-directed bio-pic about Steve, the one that had won Matt Damon and Kate Beckinsale Oscars for their portrayals of Steve and Peggy Carter. Jaded Leto’s depiction of Bucky’s fall had her ugly Kim Kardashian crying until well after the end, where the title dedicating the film to the brave efforts of Captain America and his Howling Commandoes was displayed over a black and white photo of the lot of them in what was supposed to be an orderly arrangement but had by that point devolved into chaos as the boys shoved at each other grinning like idiots, Steve unsuccessfully tried to corral them back into position, and Peggy Carter and Howard Stark stood to one side laughing their asses off.

Jack had watched it with her one afternoon after she admitted to never having seen it, flashing her an understanding smile as she sobbed on their couch instead of ribbing her like most other ten year old boys would.

Matt Damon had more than earned his Oscar, thanking both Peggy Carter and Rebecca Barnes in his acceptance speech for sharing with him the real Steve, the one the propaganda reels often failed to capture. And while the few occasions he was required to give heart-felt and inspiring speeches were amazing, they really couldn’t compare to the original.

There was something in the way Steve spoke (and she would bet money the effect was quadrupled if you were looking into his baby blues at the same time) that made her feel like everything he was telling her was true. That if Dr Doom himself had come up to her with one of his crazy-ass ray guns and demanded nuclear launch codes (or whatever megalomaniacal super-villains were after nowadays) she could have coolly and calmly told him to fuck off and then incapacitated him using some sort of ninja move.

Sucking in one last breath of courage, she pushed the door to the café open and stepped inside.

It was one of those cosy, trendy hipster places that were popping up everywhere. The only thing giving away the fact that it was paying Manhattan rental prices were the carefully arranged designer furniture (attempting to cultivate a shabby-chic eclectic type vibe), that almost everyone in there was in some sort of power suit, and the fact that a latte cost almost twice as much as a cup of sugary Starbuck’s deliciousness.

Despite the exorbitant price, Darcy headed up to the counter to order, using her company credit card to pay (if buying super expensive pretentious coffee during an Avengers’ mandated mission wasn’t a business expense then she really didn’t know what was) and the extra time to try and calm her nerves a little more.

While she waited in the queue to order she scoped out the rest of the café, not even pausing on Cling in the back corner, even though the suit he was wearing looked like it cost more than her college education and thus was tailored to _perfection_. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him tapping away on a laptop, pretending to be hard at work.

The guy she was meeting, imaginatively calling himself John and leaving it at that, was easy to spot. He was in the front corner of the café, seated at a small table that looked like someone had cut a section out of a tree trunk, dipped it in lacquer and then poured black paint over the top so that it dripped attractively over the bark.

“John” was nervously staring at the door, eyes watching every person who came in until they headed towards the counter to order. Probably why he had dismissed her as his potential buyer, because in his mind they weren’t there for the coffee (even though he had a cappuccino in front of him, it sat untouched) they were there so Darcy could be sensitive information from him, at least, that’s what “John” thought.

“John” was actually one Henry John Richardson, a former AIM technician who was also a former SHIELD employee who had jumped ship for more lucrative and less scrupulous pastures a year before the whole “AIM’s founder was a mad man who could breathe fire and was letting people blow up all over the place” thing happened. According to “John” he was in possession of the locations and security encryption keys to several old bunkers that had operated outside of any records and had survived the government’s seizure of all things AIM. Within said bunkers was rumoured to be untold amounts of old data as well as the last remaining samples of extremis and several other projects that AIM were undertaking on the sly.

You know the kind of information that Hydra would have loved to get their hands on if there were any remaining cells still standing.

Darcy’s mission (which she regrettably chose to accept) was to pose as a Hydra agent looking to buy so that they could confirm that what “John” had on offer was legitimate and then arrest the hell out of him. After that they were going to use him to lure any remaining Hydra cells into buying his Intel and thus exposing themselves.

Accepting her coffee from the barista she walked over to the table, flopping down onto the multi-coloured pouf before putting the 100% recycled cardboard cup onto the tree-trunk-table-thing.

“You can’t sit there,” he barely even glanced at her, eyes fixed on the front door as a man walked through hissing into his cell and gesturing angrily. “I’m waiting on someone.”

“Well I guess it’s your lucky day John,” he jerked, spinning so fast to face her he nearly fell off of his three legged stool. “It just so happens that I am looking for someone.”

“You’re the one that emailed me?” he asked, shuffling forward and lowering his voice. “From the base in Poughkeepsie?”

“You can call me Jane,” taking a sip from her latte (which was amazing, don’t get her wrong, but not worth as much as she forked over for it) she smiled politely at him.

She’d picked the name mostly because he’d gone with John, but also because she was used to responding when people were yelling at _her_ Jane (and the scientist was too busy with her head inside one of her contraptions to reply) so if he did call her by name she wouldn't futz up the entire mission by not responding quick enough.

Sitting patiently she waited for him to size her up, his not-so-subtle gaze examined her from head to toe before his eyes narrowed and returned to hers.

“So,” she smiled brightly. “Apparently you have some information I might be interested in purchasing?”

Her eyes darted down to the laptop sitting closed on his lap, there was a tiny silver flash drive plugged into the side. His hands tightened reflexively in response to her question, pulling the computer in closer.

“I might,” his eyes narrowed even further. She was wondering if he was even able to see her clearly, squinting angrily as he was, his eyes hadn’t exactly been big to begin with. “But with a single command stroke it will erase itself if you don’t give me something right now that proves you’re who you say you are. I’m not risking well-funded retirement on a private island for some SHIELD lackey who thinks they’re smart enough to try and trick me.”

Her smile tightened. Not because she was worried that the jig was up, in fact it was really, _really_ hard to resist making the _Star_ Wars reference about thermal detonators that was on the tip of her tongue. They had access to almost everything Hydra had ever touched, both from all of the SHIELD bureaus that were infested as well as the secret bases Steve and Bucky had spent the better part of a year burning to the ground. It was more than enough to create an almost flawless false identity for Darcy. She had flattened her expression because that was what was expected of her character, high-level Hydra agents got cranky when their patience was tested by low-level AIM techs with delusions of grandeur.

“Didn’t you hear?” she smirked, but this time there was a hint of malice behind it. “SHIELD and Hydra are the same thing.”

Handing over the ID badge she sat back and took another sip of her coffee, waiting for him to verify it on his computer.

When he was satisfied she took the badge back, slipping it into the inside pocket of her coat.

“This is the account I want the money transferred to,” he slid a scrap of paper across the table. “You have ten minutes. If I check my balance and it hasn’t increased I’m walking out of here and you’ll never see me again.”

“Not so fast,” she purposefully ignored the account information. “Even a _SHIELD lackey_ would know better than to hand over an eight figure sum without testing the goods. Since I’ve already proved I’m a lot smarter than a lackey and a lot higher ranked, it’s only fair you return the favour.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Darcy had watched enough movies to know how the game was played, you don’t pay for something if there’s a chance it won’t be delivered.

“ _You_ have ten minutes to make me believe that what’s on offer is worth the frankly obscene amount you’re demanding or we’re both walking out of here and trust me, where you’ll end up? You’ll wish you never saw me again.”

She could hear the breath Steve let out on the other end of the comm, equal parts impressed and freaked out by how into character she was getting. Sure she’d seen a lot of movies, but nothing compared to first-hand knowledge of powerful people making threats. You don’t spend as long as she did in the midst of honest to god mobsters without witnessing a few things.

John put up some more idle protest but eventually relented under the pressure of her ice-cold glare. Tapping away at the keys of his computer it was several minutes before he spun it around and slid it across the table towards her.

He was pretty clever, she thought to herself as she scrolled through checking for any sign that the documents and photos in question were in any way edited or faked, giving her just enough that – had she actually been Hydra – she would have been salivating to get her hands on it, but blacking out enough that she couldn’t cut him out completely and just take the information.

She paused over several sections, letting Steve check some of the general stuff outlined against any other AIM intelligence they had in case it brought up any glaring inaccuracies or recycled data. When he gave the all clear she quickly turned on the “find my device” app on his Macbook, so that they could track him if he managed to give Steve the slip before she closed the laptop, sliding it back across the table.

“Well John,” she smiled taking the slip of paper from the table and holding it up with her cell as if she were transferring the money. In actual fact Steve was taking care of that (Tony had some scruples about allowing her access to his Avenger’s funds, even though they would be getting them back shortly) she was holding them up so he could get a clear view of the information through her glasses-cam. “You are about to become a very wealthy man.”

After receiving confirmation from Steve, she lowered the phone and slid the paper back towards him.

“John” didn’t say anything as he tucked it back into his breast pocket, he simply re-opened the laptop and began tapping away at the keys. She could tell when saw the new balance of his offshore account, smiling for the first time in their entire encounter.

“You’ll receive a bonus when we seize control of the facilities,” she tilted her head, her smile becoming almost predatory. “And don’t forget, we are always looking for loyal soldiers, if you ever have anything else to offer, you know how to get in touch.”

Brow pinching her stared back at her for a moment before speaking, “No offense lady, but I’m moving to somewhere remote and tropical and never going near any of this crazy shit again.” He pulled the flash drive out of the computer, dropping the tiny silver stick on the table before tucking the laptop under his arm and climbing to his feet.

He walked out without another word and Darcy turned her head slightly so that the daisy-cam in her hair had a full view of him and Steve could see which direction he turned. Taking another sip from her coffee she tucked the flash drive into her pocket, watching Clint out of the corner of her eye as he discretely followed him out, keeping eyes on him until Steve had him safely in custody.

She’d just finished off the last of her latte when Steve informed them that “John” was bound securely in the back of the van and he was on his way back to the tower. Getting to her feet she dropped the empty cup in the trash as Clint confirmed he’d headed back to his own vehicle.

“You’re clear to move out Darce,” Steve told her, slipping into his commander voice.

“Roger Bravo Leader,” she responded, using the opportunity to make up for the _Star Wars_ reference she couldn’t make earlier, even if it was with something from the prequel trilogy. “I’m headed back to base.”

The chuckle she got in response was definitely from Clint, Steve’s sigh (and subsequent eye-roll most likely) sounding in the background. Darcy stepped out onto the street, pausing only to swap her glasses for the prescription sunglasses in her bag, before she began her walk back to the subway. She was planning on taking her sweet time. There was nothing urgent she needed to do back at the office, and if she timed it properly she’d be back just before quitting time.

She’d made it all of about twenty yards before she saw him. Tall, broad, and leaning against a news stand, he was pretending to peruse the glossy magazine covers, stopping every few seconds to sweep his gaze up the street.

“Fuck,” he muttered, stopping dead.

Darcy may not be a super-spy with crazy ninja training in how to spot enemy combatants a mile away, but there were certain things you learned when you worked walking the streets. Most of the time you learnt the hard way but after a while she’d developed certain skills necessary for survival. One of those skills was how to spot an undercover cop, kind of like a sixth sense (though in reality probably something boring like recognising body language and subtle tells but “sixth sense” sounded way cooler).

Not that the big burly dude up ahead was in any was affiliated with law enforcement. But he was on the lookout for someone, not noticing that in his eagerness to appear natural he was actually pretending to examine bridal magazines, too busy looking at everyone around him. Something in her gut told her that she was the one he was keeping his eye out for. Another one of those handy little skills most street-walkers picked up she supposed.

She was hoping it was some sort of Hydra or AIM flunky, that they’d cottoned on to the exchange going down and were going to try to grab her and demand their super-secret files back. And wasn’t that a sad comment on her life, that crazed Nazis were the better of her options?

She’d turned to head back in the other direction, planning on circling around the block, when she saw the second guy. Slightly smaller than the first, walking towards her, with a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her but he was steadily moving in her direction.

“Fuckity fuck,” she cursed, veering left to cross the street.

“Darcy?” Steve’s voice sounded worried over the comm. “What’s going on?”

The third guy was already on the other side of the road, and she nearly got hit by a cab stopping when she saw him.

“Fucking fuckity fuck,” she sped up, flipping the bird to the irate cabbie who was honking angrily at her.

“How much worse is ‘fucking fuckity fuck’ than ‘fuckity fuck’?” Clint asked. “I need some sort of scale here.”

“I’ve got company,” she muttered, throwing a look over her shoulder (dude #3 was now following her, pushing his way through the crowded sidewalk) and quickening her pace.

“Where are you?” Steve’s captain voice cut clear through her growing panic.

“Across the road from the coffee shop,” she replied. “Heading south-ish, I think? Christ how do you guys always magically know which direction you’re going?”

“Tell me what you see,” Steve commanded.

“I got one guy behind me,” she glanced over the lanes of traffic. “Two across the street, all of them are big scary-ass looking rent-a-thugs.”

“Barton?”

“I’m four minutes out,” she could hear his breath pick up, breaking into a jog.

“Darcy,” said Steve. “Head into a shop, the busier the better. Clint will be there shortly. Ok?”

She muttered an affirmative before following a large group of college age guys into a large but crowded bookstore, winding her way through the closely packed shelves and muttering her location to the others. She stopped when she was far enough back that she could glimpse the front door through the stacks of books but was hidden enough that anyone entering would not be able to see her.

Not even pretending to be browsing, she watched the front door, swearing under her breath when Dude #3 walked in followed by Dude #1. They shared a whispered conversation before splitting up, Dude #1 heading in one direction and Dude #3 making his way towards her. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.

Now she was right back where she started, heart pounding, chest heaving, about-to-pee-her-panties _panicking_.

She was definitely going to get arrested, because she was pretty sure it was illegal to have a taser in New York, and she was about three seconds from having to whip it out and lighting Dude #3 up like a god-damned Christmas tree. Her hand had slipped into her bag, tightening around the comforting plastic grip, when someone grabbed her other hand and started pulling her towards the back of the store.

“It’s me,” Clint muttered, saving himself from a second zapping.

The pair of them slipped through a back door, into a store room, and then through another door. Clint didn’t let go of her hand, his own warm and firm as it pulled her along. They exited into a back alley, signs designating it a loading zone plastered everywhere and a pleasant wet dumpster smell permeating the air.

Cling kept dragging her along, out of this alley, across the street (ignoring the angry honking of various commuters) and into another alley with an even more potent wet dumpster smell and a very angry looking cat.

“Dude,” she panted struggling to keep up. “I am neither built nor dressed for any sort of athleticism.”

He slowed his pace slightly, muttering an apology as he scanned behind them for any sign of the Dudes.

They walked for several more minutes in silence, making it another block before either of them spoke again.

“Are you ok?” he’d slowed down again, hanging back so that instead of dragging along they were walking side by side. His hand slipped from hers, he moved it to the small of her back, gently guiding her around a woman trying to corral a group of five kids.

Her breathing was still a little laboured (she wasn’t kidding when she said she wasn’t built for athleticism) but walking with Clint, no sign of any big scary-ass thug type dudes nearby, she was definitely feeling better. There was something very comforting about the warmth of his hand which was still pressed gently to the small of her back. She nodded, and absolutely did not blush when he smiled warmly at her.

By the time they made it to the Stark-issued SUV he was driving her breathing had returned to normal, enough so that when he started the car and Kenny Loggins started blaring through the speakers she couldn’t contain her snort of laughter. Especially when he hastily tried to turn the volume down.

“Embrace it dude,” she laughed, slapping his hand away from the dial. “There’s no escaping it now, I’ve already discovered your secret shame.”

“I am not _ashamed_ ,” he huffed, pulling out into traffic.

“Really?” she smirked, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re not ashamed that you were voluntarily listening to Kenny Loggins? Like this is the eighties and Top Gun is still the raddest movie _ever_?”

He grumbled something under his breath, she couldn’t hear what but something that did not sound like it was paying her any kind of compliment.

“Sorry dear, I didn’t catch that.”

“It’s better than whatever techno-pop-garbage you probably listen to.”

“How would you know what I listen to?” she arched a brow at him, smile teasing and light.

There was a flash of guilt to his expression, he kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, his focus mostly on the traffic in front of her. She was a little stumped, what had he done? She usually had headphones on when she listened to her tunes at work, so unless he’d snuck a glance at the playlists on her iP-

“Oh my god!” he flinched at her yell. “You son of a bitch, you totally have my old iPod don’t you? The one Coulson confiscated!”

He had the grace to look suitable chastened, shrinking down in his seat a little as she glared at him.

“Do you know how many playlists I made on that that didn’t get synced onto my iTunes?” there was not a lot to do in bum-fuck New Mexico, making playlists on her iPod was one way she’d chosen to pass the time. “Playlists that were specifically tailored to my every mood and fancy.”

“I don’t actually still have it,” he pointed out. “I just may have looked at it when it was in SHIELD’s possession.”

“Well then you should know that not everything on there was ‘techno-pop-garbage’.”

“At least seventy-five percent of that was techno-pop-garbage.”

The entire drive back to the tower had them arguing about music, Clint hadn’t believed her when she told him she could listen to anything, she just had to be in the appropriate mood. He’d taken to yelling band names and genres, she in turn replied with what scenario would suit such tunes. ( _“Country music!” “The music of pain my friend.”_ )

By the time they made it to the elevator in the underground parking garage she was feeling a lot better, the adrenaline of the whole afternoon had worn off and the playful (it was hard to tell, she hadn’t seen a lot of Clint and every time she did he was all super-serious secret agent man, so maybe this was what he was like in a more relaxed setting. Maybe he was just trying to be nice, put her at ease after the whole she was almost snatched by as-of-yet-unidentified-thugs which was actually really nice considering the last time they spoke she electrocuted him) banter had helped to calm her down.

She pushed the button for her floor, turning and arching a brow at him, silently asking where he was going.

“I’ll just walk you to your office,” his face was twisted slightly in concern. “You’ve had a pretty eventful day, I figure it’s my duty to make sure you’re ok.”

Both her eyebrows shot up.

“Trust me,” he smiled, she couldn’t see any condescension, just kindness and a little worry. “The first few times you’re out in the field there’s so much adrenaline you feel invincible, it’s not until later that it wears of and the shock sets in.”

He’s blushing and she’s blushing and neither of them are meeting the other’s eyes as the elevator ascends because apparently they’re both twelve year olds who can’t hold a proper conversation with a member of the opposite sex.

They walk silently to her office, Clint holding the door open for her like a proper Iowa gentleman.

“Well,” she turned to face him just inside the door. “I didn’t spontaneously swoon or combust or whatever.”

“The afternoon is still young,” his voice was teasing but his face had a hint of seriousness to it. “You should probably get something to eat and drink.”

Walking towards her desk she smiled to herself, not used to having people fuss over her, but also thankful that he wasn’t trying to baby her. He knew as well as she did that this wasn’t her first big action adventure, compared to New Mexico and England this was cake walk, but he was still making sure that she was ok. She was about to thank him, let him know that Steve was giving her a ride home tonight because Bucky had spent the afternoon attempting to make lasagne from scratch and they were going to test the results, when she noticed the parcel on her desk.

It was weird, because she didn’t usually get sent things at work. There was an assistant dedicated to dealing with and letters and email Hill got sent, who occasionally would forward them on if it was pertinent. It was addressed to her though, _Darcy Lewis_ on a typed label. There was no return address on the back, and the post mark was for New York.

Something rattled slightly inside as she sat it back down, digging her nails under the tap holding the small box shut.

Clint said her name, probably not for the first time, still waiting for a response to his food suggestion.

“Bucky’s making lasagne,” she muttered distractedly still fighting to get the box open.

She didn’t hear his response, rummaging around her desk for a pair of scissors or something. Finally managing to slice the box open she refrained from letting out a whoop of victory, unfolding the flaps and pulling out a handful of those Styrofoam packing beads. The second the contents of the box became visible every drop of blood in her body ran ice cold.

Nestled in amongst more of the packing beads were a dozen or so tiny glass pipes. Some new and clean, others old, their insides stained with black and brown. 

All of a sudden the burn was there again, the ache in all of her extremities, behind her eyes, rattling in her skull, telling her that just one more hit will take the pain away. She’s seen it before, other people in the same rehab centre she’d gone to, having to return because seeing something, smelling something, going somewhere they’d used to shoot up, any one of these things had triggered something in them, and all of a sudden it was like going through withdrawal again. There was a reason Darcy had chosen to go to College in the States, as far from her home city as she could easily get.

Her mouth was as dry as the New Mexico desert, the queasy feeling in her stomach starting to intensify until she was fighting all out nausea. Then the tremors hit, subtle at first but even Clint had to see she was shaking. Clint. Fuck, no one was ever supposed to know about this, _no one_ , not even Jane knew, hell, Jane thought her name was Darcy and that her Parents died in a car accident when she was seventeen.

She had to get it together, Clint was going to see her freaking out and was going to want to know why and he’d look in the box and see the glass pipes and then he’d know and they’d all know-

“Darcy are you ok?” he stepped towards her slightly, trying to get her attention but still keeping his distance.

“Yeah, I’m,” she shook her head slightly, fighting the urge to vomit back down with sheer force of will before closing the box hastily and slipping it into her purse. “You know, I am feeling a little shaky. Maybe you were onto something with that whole shock thing.”

He smiled kindly at her, waiting patiently and sort of asking without actually asking what she wanted to do.

She could push through this, she’d done it before, been clean and sober for over eight years now. But the package was sent from within New York, and there was only one person who would send her something like this. He had found her, found where she worked at least; found out her new name, her new identity. She was safe in the building, it was one of the most secure in the world. But she couldn’t stay here indefinitely, people would know something was up.

But he can’t have found her apartment, first of all she was unlisted. Stark Industries was quite forthcoming with information about its executives, and hers was one of the names listed if you needed to get in contact with Hill, so it wasn’t completely unlikely for someone as focussed as Dooney to track her down here.

That being said she did not want to be alone tonight. Lucky for her she didn’t have to be. There weren’t many safer places than the home of two super soldiers, one of whom was a world renowned assassin for the better part of a century.

“Steve’s giving me a ride to his place,” she explained. “I might see if he’s going to be ready to leave soon.”

Clint held the door open for her again as they left, still watching her with that concerned tilt to his brow.

She was fine. She was safe. There was no way he could track her to her apartment, even if he did have her new name. She repeated it to herself like a mantra as they made their way up to the Avengers’ floors.

Maybe if she said it enough times, it would actually be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole Movie thing is one of my head-canons that in the MCU instead of making Saving Private Ryan Spielberg made a bio-pic about Steve Rogers. I used Matt Damon because he was a) Private Ryan, and b) has that earnestness that Captain america was famous for. Basically the film would be the same as CA:tFA as far as storyline and whatever (the computer graphics used for the skinny!steve were revolutionary in 1998, opening up a whole new world of movie effects for the future, bla bla bla hand-wavey historical accuracy and movie magic).
> 
> As for the mission junk, like computing stuff and locations: I would like to point out that the only american city I've ever been to is San Fransico, the most I can do on my computer is type, tumblr and mess around on photoshop, so you'll just have to roll with any glaring inaccuracies and fabrications.
> 
> Finally, thank you to everyone who has read, commented, kudos'd, bookmarked, subscribed and all that jazz, it really awesome that you guys are liking this so far. Next chapter has more CLint/Darcy flirting, a bit of tony action, cheesy pickup lines and finally some stuff that is actually relevant to the whole "darcy's secret past" plot. So stick around, you know, if you're into that sort of thing.


	4. Awful Pick-up Lines, With Daniel Radcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then again, it’s not every day you see a certified national icon getting his toenails painted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I am the worst person ever. So I went to upload chapter 5 and then realised I didn't actually upload chapter 4 last wednesday when I promised because I AM AND IDIOT. So yeah, my bad.

Clint had seen some weird-ass shit in his day. He grew up in a circus, ok? Raised by honest-to-god carnies; like a set of conjoined twin contortionists and an armless knife thrower. He’d been possessed by alien gods and battled slime monsters. Weird was strangely normal in his life.

But nothing could prepare him for the sight that greeted him upon entering the common area (saying top floor didn’t feel right as it wasn’t actually one floor, it took up the space of two, with lots of glass, weird platform things, balconies, and a lab. But the elevators opened up to the centre platform bit there the couches and TV were, it was where they all hung out so: common area).

Then again, it’s not every day you see a certified national icon getting his toenails painted.

Steve was seated at one end of the large couch across from the massive TV (that, in true Tony Stark style, appeared smoothly from the ground upon command) with his feet in Darcy’s lap at the other end. Darcy had her feet resting on his thighs (her legs being somewhat ridiculously shorter than his) dozens of tiny glass bottles in varying shades spread out on the coffee table next to them, and the menu for some animated movie Clint didn’t recognise rolling on the enormous flat screen.

“What up C-Money?” called Darcy, nodding hello before lowering her head to blow gently on Steve’s toes.

Steve, all 200 pounds of wholesome apple pie, flinched trying to pull his feet back and biting down on his lips to contain his yelp.

“Hold still you baby,” she scolded, kicking him in the chest with her heel before grabbing a firmer hold on his ankle. “You’ll ruin my masterpiece.”

“It tickles,” he huffed, pouting like an actual five-year-old.

Clint hadn’t moved since entering the room, standing slack-jawed in front of the bank of the elevators and praying to the sweet baby Jesus that Jarvis was recording this. No one would believe him otherwise.

“There you are Harvey! I think I figured out a way to way to make your-”

Tony stopped dead, mouth frozen open mid-sentence with one of the prototype arrows he’d been trying to perfect (they were supposed to fire off an EMP _after_ it hit its mark not before Clint had even let it fly) held aloft. He was still halfway down the large curved stairway that led to his lab, something dark (could be soot, could be grease, hell it could be chocolate sauce) smudged on his face.

“Wait, Harvey?” asked Steve, lifting Darcy’s foot to examine his work at different angles. Her toenails were painted a deep scarlet.

“ _Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law_ ,” Darcy rolled her eyes. “It’s a cartoon series.”

He simply nodded his head, apparently trusting Darcy enough to not need much more of an answer, before leaning back in his seat to wait for her nails to dry. The room fell into silence for a few minutes, Darcy painting, Steve looking out the windows at the mid-afternoon skyline, Clint staring at the pair of them and-

“So are we just ignoring this?” Tony stared at each of them in turn, eyebrows making a steady climb towards his receding (if Clint was being perfectly honest) hairline.

Clint shrugged. It may have been the strangest thing he had ever seen in a good long while, but when it came to the fast-talking brunette that had sprung up out of nowhere, he was learning to just roll with it.

“What are we ignoring?” Barnes had been behind the wet bar, the one that was on the slightly raised part of the floor, about three feet higher than the one they were on. In a swift move that made absolutely no sound he placed his left hand on the bar and vaulted gracefully over and down to their level. Flicking the lids off of the two beers with his metal hand he passed one to Steve before perching on an armchair, his legs twisted up underneath him, sparing a glance at Steve’s handiwork.

“Seriously?!” Tony was as close to shrieking as he could get without actually shrieking. “Nobody else finds Señor Stars-and-Stripes getting a pedicure both hilarious and strange as hell?!”

The three of them turned to stare at Tony. Darcy’s face was scrunched up in confusion, Steve’s as well, but not so intense, just a slight pinching of his brow. He actually made that face a lot. A year or two ago Clint would have said that it was because someone had made a reference or spoke about something he didn’t understand, after a few months of that he was worried that the poor guy would never get it, he’d never catch up. That was until he got to know him better. Steve was stupidly smart, his memory almost photographic. Show him how to use something once and he would have it mastered the next time you saw him. He’d been reading almost anything he could get his hands on, watching films, TV series. He was more than caught up on most things.

This wasn’t an “I’m from the great depression and don’t understand your futuristic ways” frown. This was a “you’ve said something not-funny/offensive/really freaking weird/all of the above and I’m both confused as to why and intrigued to see how you’re going to continue from here” frown. Steve Rogers was many things, a stand-up guy, a paragon of virtue, a hell of a fighter, but also a complete and utter shit.

Barnes’ face said something similar, but without actually doing more than minutely changing the angle of his brow. The rest bore his usual death glare (usual around Tony at least, Bucky had taken being seventy years in the future and still without a flying car pretty hard, and apparently anyone with the name Stark was to blame).

“I only have open-toed shoes to wear to the stupid product launch thing tonight that _you_ are making me go to,” her eyes narrowed to a glare, the effect ruined somewhat by Steve’s feet resting on her chest, complete with little hot pink foam dividers separating his toes. “I suck at painting my own toenails and am way too cheap to fork out for a professional to do it, so our resident artist is doing me a solid.”

Tony had opened his mouth to speak (probably something about the fact that he wasn’t making her go, she was required to go because of her job) but she cut him off.

“He’s cool with me returning the favour,” she shrugged. “Plus, now he and Bucky match.”

“You painted the Winter Soldier’s toenails?” Tony looked like someone had walked up to him and told him hey, Santa was real, and once a year he gave out vintage race-cars to celebrate the birth of our lord and saviour Jesus Christ.

“No,” she glared at Barnes. “Sergeant Spoil-Sport over there wouldn’t let me. But look.”

Clint and Tony both headed closer to the couch so they could see what she was gesturing to. The toenails on Steve’s right foot were all painted black, on his left foot however they were a shimmering silver, his big toe adorned with a tiny red star.

“I think the mass of scar tissue where my arc reactor used to be just melted a little,” sighed Tony. “That’s adorable Lewis.”

She smiled brightly, turning to poke her tongue out at Barnes who was taking a sip of his beer, completely unconcerned by what was happening around him, eyes fixed on the looped animation of the menu screen.

“Also,” Tony folded his arms across his chest, nearly stabbing himself with the proto-type arrow. “One, you are attending tonight because you are required to be there by Maria Hill who, as you keep reminding me, is your boss not me. And two, what do you mean you can’t paint nails? I distinctly remember your fingers had ‘F U Tony’ on them last week.”

“I can do my fingers just fine, but the ladies make it a little hard to do my own toes comfortably.”

Clint’s eyes automatically darted down to where she was thrusting her chest forward to illustrate which “ladies” she was referring to. As if just realising where Darcy had put his feet Steve’s eyes widened almost comically (like they hadn’t been comfortably nestled there for however long they’d been giving each other pedicures).

Steve had quite fair skin, and he blushed easily. Whether he was flustered, embarrassed, or angry, his skin would grow steadily redder. He wasn’t the prude most of the world’s media assumed he was (the dude did serve in the army) but even if some part of him knew Darcy had placed his feet there herself, Sarah Rogers had raised him not to be so familiar with a woman you weren’t seriously courting. Clint suppressed a chuckle, putting him at about three seconds away from attempting to politely shift them elsewhere.

“Rogers,” Darcy spoke calmly as she shook a small bottle of clear varnish. “If you move an inch before I put a top coat on I will slowly remove all of your nails with a pair of pliers.”

The second laugh was harder to completely control. Clint ended up snorting as the red staining Steve’s cheeks deepened.

“Trust me,” he couldn’t see her smirking, but he could definitely hear it in her voice. “I’ve had way worse things touching my sweater monkeys.”

Barnes burst out laughing, whether it was the name Darcy had used or the hopelessly confused expression (this one because he genuinely didn’t understand the reference) on Steve’s face, Clint didn’t know. Tony gave up on the lot of them, throwing his arms in the air and storming back to his lab, muttering to himself to the only person who would listen, Jarvis.

Winding his way past the others he slid down to sit on the ground near Barnes, swiping Steve’s beer and taking a sip before asking, “So what are we watching?”

*

The excuse of free booze and food was what he’d given to Natasha when she’d questioned why he wanted to go to the Stark Industries product launch party thing tonight. One carefully arched brow had told him that she didn’t believe him, but they’d been friends long enough that she simply slipped into one of her fancy dresses, helped him pick out a tie, and kept up a steady stream of commentary about the various bigwigs passing by as they drank free champagne and stuffed their faces with hors d’oeuvres.

They’d been there for about two hours, Clint had eaten his weight in baby shrimp and the fanciest little micro-hamburgers he’d ever seen (the sever had been giving him the stink eye when he’d tried to scoop the majority of the tray and balance them on a napkin, Natasha had just rolled her eyes, but the big hypocrite had actually taken the platter of sushi Stark had flown in from Japan and growled at him when he took a piece of nigiri) and most definitely not had been glancing across the room at Darcy every few minutes.

She was over near the windows, chatting with a man in his sixties wearing a dark suit who was leaning a little closer than was strictly polite. Darcy looked about as unimpressed as he felt, though he was pretty sure he was the only one who could see it.

“I’m going to harass Stark with inappropriate questions in front of potential buyers,” there was a completely bored expression on Natasha’s face as she spoke, but a slight widening of her eyes (barely even noticeable, but he was both trained in espionage and had known Nat for years so he could read her better then most) told him the real reason for her departure.

She could have easily made him go tonight by himself, stayed in her apartment in her sweats watching awful action movies. Except, of course, she was kind of his best friend and she wouldn’t do that to him. If he was going to go to an event he really didn’t want to go to just so he could stand across the room making moon eyes at a girl he hadn’t worked up the courage to ask out for coffee yet, well then she was going to stand there beside him.

“You should go and talk to her.”

And if he was going to spend the whole thing using her as a distraction so he wouldn’t actually need to go and talk to Darcy then she was going to take away the option. This was her telling him to woman the fuck up. Which he was totally going to do, just after he had another champagne, you know, for luck.

By the time he made it over to her she was pulling faces at the man who’d been talking to her as he walked away and couldn’t see her. She was wearing a black dress, it was high-necked and knee length but the majority of it was lace, like she was wearing a tiny little dress with a slightly more reserved one over top. When he’d first seen her his mouth had gone a little dry, and now that he was actually standing in front of her he was definitely finding it difficult to swallow properly. He took another sip of champagne to help. God bless fizzy liquid courage.

Not really knowing what to actually say now he was here (he was supposed to be a goddamn professional, he was paid to pretend to be other people and start conversations) he wound up giving her a really lame complement on her toes, the deep red poking out through her shoes.

“Yes,” she deadpanned. “Because that is definitely everyone’s first point of call when I wear a dress like this.”

“What can I say?” he smiled. “I’m a bit of a chauvinist. I always preferred a lady’s varnish preferences to her personality.”

Her laugh was loud and unashamed, tossing her head back, and drawing the attention of a few distinguished people nearby.

“Besides,” he continued, deciding right there that he wanted nothing more than to make her laugh like that for the rest of the night. “You clearly picked that outfit to show them off. I can’t help it that my eyes are glued to the floor.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” she smirked, gesturing at him with her chin. “If that suit wasn’t tailored to emphasise your ridiculous shoulders and arms then I am secretly Stark’s illegitimate heir.”

“Hey, my eyes are up here.”

She leant in a little closer.

“And what are those, space pants?” she dropped her tone, making her voice deep and husky. “Because babe, that ass is outta this world.”

“Wow,” he chuckled. “With lines like that I’m surprised I didn’t have to fight my way through a see of men just to talk to you.”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “I’m picky about my tastes in beef cake.”

Placing a hand against his chest he let his jaw drop in mock offence, “I am not a piece of meat, I have a heart you know.”

A couple of people actually stepped away from where they were standing, Darcy’s laugh was not quiet but it wasn’t like she was cackling like Fran Drescher. They were actually throwing disgusted looks over their shoulders, as if they weren’t at a party hosted by Tony Stark, and someone unabashedly enjoying themselves was a total faux pas.

“You’re alright Barton,” her hand rested briefly on his shoulder, friendly but potentially not.

He was really fucking hoping he wasn’t reading too much into this, that he wasn’t projecting his own stupid crush and wasn’t about to embarrass the shit out of himself.

Stepping a little closer he tried to give his best suave smile, “And you’re a little more than alright.”

His inner Natasha was rolling her eyes at him so hard she could probably make out brain cells dying. What the hell was that? He couldn’t even say, his brain to mouth filter was getting a workout right now, he was lucky he didn’t just confess to basically _stalking her to a work function_. Smooth Barton, _smooth_.

“Now who’s the one with the smooth lines?”

Her voice was teasing and she was smiling at him, but it wasn’t I’m-trying-to-switch-this-back-to-a-friendly-platonic-joke-because-no-offense-I-just-don’t-think-of-you-like-that teasing. It was definitely the flirty kind. At least the thought it was, he used to be good at this sort of thing but, in all honesty it had been a long time and the only females he really interacted with were Nat and Kate, who both gave new meaning to the word “blunt”.

There was a pause, neither of them speaking as they looked at the other. It was the kind of pause that had weight behind it, the sort of weight that was pulling them closer together, almost in slow motion. His eyes kept darting to her lips, painted a red that matched the colour adorning her nails. Her hair was pulled back, piled onto her head and emphasising the fact that she’d opted to wear her contacts tonight, one of the reasons he wasn’t just blatantly staring at her mouth, the blue grey of her eyes drawing him in, the dim lighting making them sparkle.

It was the combination of several things that finally had him leaning in those last few inches. The champagne in his stomach made him feel a little braver, the fact that Nat would beat the ever-loving shit out of him if he chickened out now, how the floral but musky smell of her perfume was kind of fogging up his head. What pushed him over the edge was her mirroring him, watching her eyes dart away from his, dipping down to his lips for a fraction of a second, a soft rosy glow colouring her cheeks as she looked back up.

His brain thought something along the lines of _fuck it_ before he was leaning in.

It was chaste to begin with, mouths closed, softly touching as his hand slipped around to rest gently on her hip. His eyes shut as she tilted her head, changing the angle. The press of her hands sliding up his chest was almost completely lost to the sensation of her lips parting, a warm puff of breath as she sighed before his brain kind of exploded. The kiss became deeper, his grip on her waist tightening and pulling her flush against him as his other hand slid up and into the hair at the back of her neck, tilting her head so that he could slide his tongue in.

Clint had kissed quite a few people, for fun, for missions, heck he’d even kissed Nat, but Darcy was a fucking fantastic kisser. Plush lips and talented tongue, alternating between taking control and letting him lead. The sighing was a thing, breathy little sounds that filled him with heat as she pressed in even tighter, soft and warm.

He was just thinking to himself that if they kept this up any longer she was going to feel just how good a kisser he thought she was pressing against her lower belly, when she pulled away.

It wasn’t really fast, but it was a lot more sudden then he had been expecting and he stumbled forward, nearly falling into her. It was only because her hands were still pressed against his chest that he didn’t, the room spinning a little as he righted himself.

“Ok,” she was smiling at him, head ducked slightly so she was looking through her lashes to meet his eye. “So don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of drunk.”

He was not drunk. He didn’t think. Maybe. He was trying to count back in his head how many champagnes he’d had since arriving with Nat about three hours ago but got a little lost after he reached seven.

“And as a gentleman,” she continued, realising he wasn’t about to reply. “I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

Which was stupid, she wouldn’t be taking advantage of anything, he was the one who kissed her, and he wasn’t drunk he was just a little tipsy. He told her as much, before becoming distracted by the way most of her lipstick had smeared away. There was probably some on his own lips, smudges of deep red, and he decided he didn’t care, in fact he didn’t care so much he was willing to get some more.

She ducked away from him, as he leaned forwards again, using her hands on his chest to hold him back slightly. He frowned but froze. He may have been tipsy (just tipsy, thank you) but he never ever wanted to be the kind of person who pushed himself onto anybody.

“Call me old fashioned,” her voice was still friendly, which made the hard knot in his stomach (that had been telling him he’d fucked up) loosen slightly. “But it would be preferable to know that this has nothing to do with you wearing your beer goggles.”

“What?”

“You haven’t exactly done anything to indicate any interest in me, you know, ever. And despite the whole electrocuting you thing, I do like you. So lets not do the thing where your morning-after brain regrets this and ruins our budding camaraderie.”

She doesn’t think he likes her. Even though he thought kissing her was a sure-fire way of letting her know that he’d been pining, _pining_ , over her for a stupid amount of time. But now he didn’t trust himself to say that without sounding crazy/drunk/like a total creeper. Maybe she didn’t like him like that.

He thought she’d been flirting back the other day after her mission, but maybe she was just joking around and he’d been reading too much into it. She did sort of speak to Steve and Barnes like that, (and he tried to ignore the way that made him feel a little jealous) so maybe that’s just how she treated her friends.Trying to piece it together was making his head spin a little.

The point was she was telling him not to kiss her again, and if she really was saying no, he was definitely going to stop. Stop pining, stop flirting, and just see if they could be friends. Afterwards he would be whining to Natasha and stuffing his face with butter pecan Häagen Dazs, but he was definitely going to stop.

She touched her fingers to his jaw, tilting his head to that she could look him in the eye.

“This isn’t a ‘not ever’ kind of no, ok?” her smile was soft but genuine. “Come find me when you haven’t been taking advantage of Stark’s open bar.”

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him pretty chastely on the lips. It was warm and soft, a barely there pressure before she dropped back down and, with one last smile, walked away.

Clint found himself smiling, even though he was pretty sure he was suffering from some severe sort of whiplash. He may be tipsy ( _drunk_ ) but he’d gone from super turned on, to feeling completely rejected, to this weird new hope that was filling his chest and making him feel weirdly warm and light, more than the booze ever could. He was confused by the fact that instead of being disappointed right now at her turning him away, he found it oddly endearing. And if that wasn’t a sign that he might just be completely ass over tea-kettle in love with her, he didn’t really know what is.

They’d only kissed _once_.

The hard part was going to be convincing her that hey, he did actually like her like that, and that maybe letting him buy her dinner was a good idea. Also a good idea? More kissing, because that had been pretty fucking great. Now all he had to do was get her onto the same page and they were set to live happily ever after like in one of the trashy romance novels Natasha pretended not to read (even though a good portion of her bookshelves are filled with them).

He was so completely fucked.

*

Darcy made it all the way to the elevator before beginning her internal freakout. She walked across the large expansive space with her head held high even though she could feel Natasha’s laser focus on her the entire way. Doing her best to keep her face neutral she ignored the way it felt like the master assassin was about to burn a hole through the side of her head as she’d grabbed her bag and coat from the temporary check station Tony had had set up.

It wasn’t even like there was any sort of malice behind the stare, she was willing to bet money that if she did give in and look (which there was no way in hell she was going to do) Natasha’s eyebrows would be arched and one of her inscrutable little smirks would be playing at the corners of her lips. The kind of seemingly mild expression that says, _I not only understand more of what happened than you actually do, but am letting you know now that I will step in if I need to_.

The second the doors slid shut she let out a breath, and as the elevator began its descent it was like the weight of the last twenty minutes got left behind on the top floor making her very conscious of her own breathing and heart beat.

The whole thing was quite honestly a bit of a surprise. In all of her time here, the only interactions she’d had with Clint had been embarrassing – from tasering him in the junk to storming into the tower wearing a goddamned bath towel, not to mention her disastrous foray into espionage – or as part of a group.

Lucky she’d left being self-conscious about those sorts of things well and truly behind her. It’s not so much that she was embarrassed, just really fucking confused about how anyone could witness something like that (and on more than one occasion, _jesus christ_ ) and think to themselves, “oh yes, that is something I want to see _more_ of!”

They have spoken, but again, only when there were at least two other people around. Sometimes he’ll say hi to her when she’s chasing Tony around trying to get him to _do his fucking job so she can do hers_ , and he and Natasha both stuck around and had lunch with them when Steve and Bucky had been given a mountain of free pizza and brought it in for everyone to have for lunch.

(Apparently they’d wandered into the little shop to suss out a takeaway menu – always on the hunt for decent places near their apartment – only to have the proprietor, an elderly Italian gentleman, come rushing out from behind the counter and burst into tears telling them about how the Howling Commandoes had saved both of his older brothers during the war. He’d given them more pizza than even a pair of super soldiers knew what to do with and refused to let them pay for any of it.)

But that was it, she was fairly certain that apart from apologising for nearly making it impossible for him to have kids they hadn’t even spoken one on one until the mission a few days ago. Even then she was pretty sure he was just being nice, trying to stop her from having a panic attack or going into shock or whatever it was he thought she might do after the adrenaline wore off. He would have done the same to anyone, right?

She spent the entire subway ride home thinking about that whole interaction. Resisting the urge to smack herself in the head for not paying closer attention. At the time she’d just dismissed him as trying to put her at ease after the whole rent-a-thug thing. But now, looking back on it with the context of him kissing her not an hour ago, he might have actually been making a pass at her.

And, well, it’s not that she’s opposed to the idea, you know, at all. She’d felt that kiss all the way down to her toes. It was a hell of a kiss, and Darcy used to kiss professionally (real life was not like Pretty Woman, she did a heck of a lot more than just kissing Johns).

He was a stupidly attractive man, which was just an objective fact, and even though he came across as a little scary when he’s working, serious blue eyes and a resting murder face that could make a grown adult pee themselves, she’s seen him half-asleep on a couch with kids cartoons playing in the background and his face smooshed into Tony’s expensive cushions which he was also drooling on.

The Clint Barton that Thor and even Steve talked about was a goofball and at times kind of a human disaster, but it’s only a select few people who ever get to see him like that. In the field, he’s Agent Barton, serious and mission-focussed the majority of the time when working with people he doesn’t trust. It’s only been recently that Steve’s told her he’s been loosening up more, letting _Clint_ show through around the team.

It was weird to think that he trusted  _her_ (she’s kind of the epitome of human disasters) enough to let down his guard like that. That he liked her enough he wanted her to see that side of him.

The smile that that thought had brought to her lips died on her face the moment she got to her floor. The lights were off, the darkness making the usually dingy hallway (she got paid more now than when she’d been Jane’s intern and didn’t actually get paid anything, but she was still living in a part of Brooklyn that the hipster-gentrification hadn’t touched yet) look downright decrepit. And Darcy knew decrepit, she’d lived in abandoned warehouses and had spent one week having to curl up behind a dumpster to try and shield herself from the icy wind.

By the time she’d made it down to her apartment, her breathing had picked up a little, something about the silence of what was usually a busy building making dread pool low and icy in her stomach. The second she saw her door ajar she froze, blood running cold in her veins.

Gulping down some much needed air she fumbled around in her purse hand gripping her trusty taser like a lifeline. She really needed to speak to Tony about getting one that was disguised as something else, because as much as she didn’t want to get arrested she also didn’t want to walk around unarmed when she was heavily associated with SHIELD and the Avengers.

It was actually that thought that gave her a little much needed strength. She did work with the goddamn Avengers, she’d successfully stolen secret information from an AIM employee less than a week ago. Tasered Gods, battled Hulk, motor-boated assassins, yada yada yada. She was a bad-ass.

It was moments like that Darcy realised doing intelligent things in times of stress was not actually a strong suit of hers. So obviously she’d geared up to smack down with home invaders like she’s the Black Widow.

It wasn’t some random burglar, that much was evident when she stepped into her cramped living room, taser held out in front of her like some kind of sword, and flicking on the lights. Spray painted across her wall in red paint that was still glistening in the glow of her crappy fluorescent bulbs were three words that made her heart stop beating in her chest.

 _OINK OINK BITCH_.

*

The next morning she’d been jumpy and antsy and hadn’t slept a fucking wink.

She’d grabbed a bag and a suitcase stuffing thm full of crap from her wardrobe, shoving her toiletries and phone charger in as well before grabbing the lot and booking it from her apartment. She hadn’t paused to check anything, she doubted there would have been much missing. Maybe any cash she had laying around if he'd needed it, but she didn’t generally keep any. Mostly it was a couple of bills in her wallet for coffee but other than that she used her card.

He wouldn’t be waiting for her, and he probably wouldn’t be coming back. That wasn’t the point of his little sojourn, otherwise he wouldn’t have taken the time to leave her a calling card.

 _Oink oink bitch_.

The reason for his little visit was to let her know that he was coming. He'd found her at work, and now he’d found her at home. She could move, she could even change her name, but no matter what, even after all of this time, he could always find her and she would never be safe.

Even knowing that he probably wouldn’t return (at least not while she was home, why do that when it was better to wait until she’d gone and visit psychological torture upon her?) she couldn’t stay there. It was supposed to be her safe place, where she could go and crash after a long day at work and not have to be anything for anybody, she could just be her. She could veg out and binge watch an entire season of _The Amazing World of Gumball_ , she could wear her pyjamas and eat cereal for dinner, she wasn’t worrying about anything.

Now she’d be constantly looking over her shoulder. Was he there? Was he watching her?

When she’d gotten to the hotel, after checking in with a fake name and paying in cash, she’d locked herself in, chained the door, and then spent half an hour throwing everything she’d eaten at the product launch party up in the bathroom.

But the harsh light of day had hit her, as she’d been sitting in the hotel dining area with dark shadows under her eyes and only able to stomach coffee. She needs to come up with something more viable than forking over hundreds of dollars to stay at a hotel for the foreseeable future. It’s nothing extravagant, but it’s not exactly a seedy dive. And she really can’t afford it.

Despite the crazy amount of security, and the fact that it would probably be totally free (plus the added bonus of it being filled with superheroes) she quickly eliminated the Tower as somewhere to stay. There are a few reasons, the most benign being that she really doesn’t want to sleep where she works. But if she was being honest with herself (and really, she was the only person she could be honest with, even if it was happening less and less) the real reason is that she didn’t want to stay somewhere that was filled with so many people who couldn’t help but to ask questions.

A couple of super-spies, Jane, Thor, and Tony “what are personal boundaries?” Stark made it next to impossible for her to get away with a generic “my building is getting fumigated/painted/remodelled” excuse.

The only option she could think of was Steve and Bucky. It made her feel like a sorry excuse for a human being, but her self-preservation instincts were screaming so loud they were hard to ignore. They are two of her best friends, and not only was she lying to everyone she knew about who the fuck she actually was, now she was going to lie to them, abuse their kind natures and the fact that they think they know her, to save her own skin from the lies that are catching up.

But they really were the only feasible option.

They lived in Brooklyn, away from the others, because Steve wanted somewhere quiet for Bucky to recover. And as much as he liked and trusted his teammates, there was something about the chaos and mayhem of the Tower that would be less than helpful. She trusted their abilities (and Bucky’s persistent paranoia) to be able to take care of anything security related. But that’s not even the biggest draw.

It was that Steve wouldn’t push, and even if he started to she could usually talk him in circles enough to confuse/distract him. It was Bucky’s I-don’t-ask-you-you-don’t-ask-me approach to personal shit. It was that they were more concerned with worrying about each other to pay her much mind. It was that one of them was recovering from being a brainwashed assassin for the better part of a century.

Every single one of those reasons made it the best place for her to crash, and every one of them made her look at herself in the hotel bathroom’s mirror using every bad name she could think of as she struggled to look herself in the eye. She messaged Bucky and asked if they’re still on for hanging out that afternoon, leaving her room before she could take any of them back.

Steve had an official Avengers thing to deal with, something political and boring that he absolutely hated but felt he had to do. She felt even more guilty for being glad that it was just Bucky and her.

If she’d asked Steve he would have responded with some sort of “you don’t want to be staying in some gross bachelors’ apartment” type excuse and suggesting the Tower. Not because he and Bucky actually lived like gross bachelors, but out of concern for Darcy’s safety.

Because he’d spoken to her before, when he’d been losing his mind thinking there was more he could be doing, about how full on Bucky’s night terrors can get. About some mornings when it took longer than it should for Bucky to shake some residual Winter Soldier that would try and step in when he remembered some of the awful things he’d done.

And it was completely relevant, it was dangerous to be around him when he was like that. But she would take potentially being attacked by the Winter Soldier (who she had managed to talk down once before) to staying in the apartment where the deranged drug-addicted ex-cop she shot in the balls could break in at any time.

So she’d gone over his head and straight to Bucky. It had been too easy, and she had never hated herself more than she did then, taking advantage of someone who had been manipulated for decades.

He’d made a face when she first got there, eyes taking in the dark circles and her slightly frazzled appearance but not actually commenting on it. She’d kept it pretty vague and casual, complaining about the shitty timing for her apartment to be getting fumigated, and how since most of the tenants had agreed to vacate for a while the Landlord thought it would be a perfect time to do some painting and general repairs.

She’d tried to act like she would if that had actually happened, begrudgingly grateful that it meant she would be living in a slightly less crappy shit-hole than she did, but still bitching about how it was going to be a major inconvenience forking out the cash for a hotel.

Bucky had sounded hesitant about offering her a place to stay, not because he didn’t want to, but more because he was still unsure if he should. If that was something that people who were friends did. She’d mentally wanted to punch herself in the face until she couldn’t see anymore, but outwardly thanked him, blathering on about not wanting to be an inconvenience.

By the time Steve had arrived home, her shit was on the couch (she’d slipped out and grabbed it earlier when Bucky had an appointment with one of his many shrinks) and the pair of them were in the kitchen. Bucky perched on a stool and chatting to Darcy as she cooked.

“Hey Steve-o,” she greeted cheerfully, stirring the chicken in the skillet with a practiced ease. “My place is getting fumigated and then repaired and then repainted, so Bucky offered me your couch for a while.”

Steve looked between her in her sweats and an old Culver shirt, bopping slightly to the music she’d put on as she cooked, and the suitcase and duffle bag piled next to their couch, “He… he did?”

He looked over at Bucky, confusion pinching his brow slightly. Bucky shrugged, taking a sip of his beer and raising his eyebrows almost defiantly.

“Well no, he didn’t actually,” she rolled her eyes. “He offered me his bed and said he’d take the couch, but I talked him down. Your couch is way more expensive and probably more comfortable than my bed anyhow.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, flashing him another smile.

“I’m making quesadillas, you hungry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post chapter 5 later tonight when I have a chance to read it over one more time.


	5. The One with the Bedazzling (aka Clint You Fucking Idiot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted his little internal tantrum and Clint spun around to see who it was. Natasha was standing with her arms folded neatly cross her chest and staring at him sitting on the floor, the curve of her eyebrows demanding an explanation.
> 
> “Ok,” he licked his lips nervously. “So this looks bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! It only took my a day longer than I said it would but, hey, at least I didn't forget this time?
> 
> I was going to post it on my lunch break today, took my ipad to work especially to read through it one last time and then post. But then there was a whole thing and well, long story short, I didn't actually get a break. But I'm home now, two thirds of the way through a bottle of tempranillo and watching the prequel trilogy (don't judge me) so I'm feeling much better.
> 
> "Java the Hutt" is not only a reference to Star Wars, but also blatantly stolen from Veronica Mars. Gunther also a reference to Friends (the inspiration for the chapter title) Please nobody sue me.

_Stupid, mother-futzing, shiny, sticky garbage_ -

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted his little internal tantrum and Clint spun around to see who it was. Natasha was standing with her arms folded neatly cross her chest and staring at him sitting on the floor, the curve of her eyebrows demanding an explanation.

“Ok,” he licked his lips nervously. “So this looks bad.”

“This” being him, a grown-ass man, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her apartment in front of the coffee table gluing tiny silver sequins onto a little wasp design he’d stencilled onto the side of a Nerf gun. On the table in front of him were two smaller Nerf guns, each already bedazzled with wasps. All three of the guns have been spry painted black, the wasps silver.

Natasha didn’t respond, just continued to stare at him with a completely unimpressed expression adorning her features. It was in moments like that one she never had to speak, fixing him with her green eyes and prompting him to confess everything with only the tiniest shifts in her expression. That she always managed to somehow insult him at the same time is what transformed it from a ridiculously useful skill to a goddamned art form.

“These aren’t for me.”

A tiny crease appeared on her forehead.

“Not that there is anything wrong with, you know, customising your gear.”

A slight tightening around her eyes.

“Darcy, they’re for Darcy.”

One eyebrow quirked, the most minuscule of shifts.

“She has a tattoo of a wasp on her wrist.”

Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, hip jutting out.

“She busted Wilson and I shooting each other on the sixtieth floor the other day and was complaining that we got to have all of the fun.”

Her lips pressed together slightly, forming a hard line that was still somehow mocking him.

“Shut up,” letting his head fall onto the table with a solid thunk (and probably getting some of the silver glitter stuck to his forehead) he let out a defeated huff. “Stop judging me.”

There was a brief pause.

“Barton,” he knew she was rolling her eyes, she did little else when in his presence. “Put down the bedazzler, put on some shoes.”

He lifted his head from the table to look at her, the small uptick of her mouth telling him he definitely had glittery-sparkly-sequin-things embedded in his forehead, “We’re going somewhere?”

“Coffee, we need to talk.”

Clint knew better than to argue with her, choosing to get whatever she’d been about to tell him (and he wasn’t completely useless, he had a strong suspicion of just what that might be) out of the way.

Ignoring the look she threw at him, he carefully laid everything out on the old newspapers he’d spread to protect the coffee table, so that it could dry in his absence. After slipping on his shoes he waited until they’d ridden the elevator down to street level before asking her if she had any where in particular in mind to go to. Her eyes were calculating when she responded with a no, telling him she was open to suggestions.

“There’s this place that’s only a block away that Darcy was telling me about,” he shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to try it.”

And there it was. The reason she was dragging him out to have a little chat. His painfully obvious (some would say verging on embarrassing) crush on Darcy. He’d been doing so well! After basically assaulting her with his face the other night he’d been making a concentrated effort with all of his interactions.

He was friendly, polite but always trying to be flirty. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of not being forward enough again. He wanted her to know that yes, he was interested in her like that, but was happy to take it slow. Even if they never ended up dating, he still wanted to be able to be her friend. So he’d kept it casual but direct, going out of his way to talk to her whenever the opportunity arose.

When she’d walked through the middle of his and Sam’s Nerf war the other day (nearly getting a dart to the face, luckily for her flyboy was a crap shot) she’d scolded them for doing it during business hours, citing three separate Stark Industries regulations. It wasn’t until she was finished, the pair of them standing in front of her with their heads hung like naughty school boys, that she rolled her eyes, told Jarvis to let them have access to the three floors that were currently unfinished – and therefore unoccupied – and told them that next time she had better be invited.

Which was why he’d spent the majority of the day in the kids section of a department store, picking out Nerf guns and ammunition for her and then subsequently deciding that they needed a makeover as none of them screamed “Darcy”. He’d chosen the wasp because he’d noticed the small tattoo on the inside of her wrist, even if he hadn’t thought they were at a point in their friendship/potentially more to ask her about it yet.

The point was, he totally had this under control. He did not need Natasha meddling. She came from a good place, he was well aware of that having been subject to her matchmaking attempts before (and though he was a strong believer in “no man left behind” he’d been more than willing to sacrifice Steve to her scheming, he’d done his time as her hopeless case thank you very much, now it was the Captain’s turn to take one for the team).

So as they made their way to the coffee shop, they didn’t speak. Clint was trying to mentally psych himself up, ready to downplay the whole thing and defend himself against Nat’s stupid all-knowing-ness. She was silently laughing at him over the futility of such an action.

By the time they arrived he’d had this entire speech planned, about how he was an adult and perfectly capable of being attracted to someone, and able to deal with that attraction like a grown-up. And seriously, he totally had a plan on what to do about it, a good plan, nay, an awesome plan. So really he didn’t need her help. At all. Ever.

Of course that all went out the window the second they arrived at _Java the Hutt_ and he saw that Darcy was there. Turning to Natasha he was met with another one of her patented “you fucking idiot” looks, and tried to hastily change his face from the stupidly dopey expression he was sporting to something much more nonchalant. Her eyebrows let him know in no uncertain terms how badly he was failing at that.

He sighed to himself, deciding that since he was already busted he may as well go over and say hi to Darcy, maybe tell her how nice she looked today, and ask her if sometime, not now, she wanted to get coffee. With him. Like a date… or something.

Yeah he did not have a fucking clue what he was doing. _Shut up Nat._

Which was fine, as all of that was irrelevant of course when he saw that Darcy was already talking to someone. Someone he recognised, in fact, enough so to make his blood run cold.

*

Darcy really needed to get out of the office. She hadn’t been sleeping, like at all, despite the fact that she was staying with two genetically enhanced super soldiers and should feel perfectly safe. Every time she closed her eyes she was plagued by nightmares, and while the being terrified part was not fun, it was better than waking up screaming out Arthur’s name which she’d been prone to do when the nightmares first started after he had died. And she wasn’t about to go repeating the experience when there were people around to witness it, thank you very much.

The whole day she’d been jumpy and irritable, snapping at everyone like she was on a goddamn hair-trigger, and verging on crazy paranoid. She knew that Hill had noticed, everyone had started to fucking notice after she got into and actual screaming match with Tony. He’d been pissed at her because she was making him take a physical – with someone who was _not_ Bruce or on his payroll – for insurance purposes.

She had been ignoring him to begin with, not picking up the phone when he called and then sporadically sending him texts reminding him that his appointment was at three, her headache steadily increasing.

When he burst into her office rambling a mile a minute about how he didn’t need insurance etc, she’d snapped, yelled at him that he was being an irresponsible idiot who legitimately risked his life on a daily basis, and if he wanted to keep doing that and jeopardise the multi-billion dollar corporation that his family had built just because he didn’t want to go to the doctors then that was fine. He could just get seriously injured or killed in the line of duty and leave Pepper struggling to maintain control of his empire at the same time she would be grieving/taking care of him. Because that is what insensitive assholes did.

At which point she’d stormed past him, out of her office into an elevator and onto the roof, threatening Jarvis with bodily harm if he told anyone where she was.

She’d caved the night before on her way home and bought her first packet of cigarettes in nearly four years.

Darcy had quit not long after starting work with Jane.

Everyone thought that Jane was completely hopeless when in the throes of science, that Darcy was the only thing keeping her fed and watered like an overgrown pot plant. It was partially true as yes, sometimes Jane forwent eating, sleeping and sometimes showering when she was so caught up in unlocking the secrets of the universe that she was reduced to communicating in a series of grunts and semi-hysterical hand gestures.

But that did not mean that Jane was some sort of brainiac toddler that needed less than gentle reminders that she couldn’t be duct-taped to a functional capacity like one of her homemade bits of equipment. Jane was very good at taking care of other people (one of the reasons she sucked so hard at taking care of herself) so when she’d noticed Darcy’s severe nicotine addiction (one of the bi-products of twelve weeks in rehab, not that Jane knew that) she didn’t really say anything at first.

Once they’d been working together for a while, having grown closer over that time, Jane didn’t preach the benefits of quitting, just subtly made sure that she threw a packet of nicotine gum in with their weekly groceries and left it to Darcy whether she wanted to get another. It was the kind of subtle, “I’m not your mother, but I care that you don’t slowly kill yourself through the constant inhalation of toxic chemicals” approach that Darcy found more touching than if Jane had sat her down on the couch and waxed poetical about taking care of herself (Darcy could forgo her own self care with the best of them).

So there were only so many times she could get away with sneaking onto the roof during the day before somebody noticed her absence. She was careful, chewing gum, washing her hands and using a cheap body spray to mask any residual smells. But if anyone were to notice they might have said something to Jane who would just know that something was wrong if Darcy had started smoking again.

Instead of pushing her luck, she’d let Hill know she was just stepping out for a coffee, offering to get her one too before making her way around the corner to her new favourite café where the barista was legitimately called Gunther.

It was after she had ordered, when she was waiting for her coffee to be made that the guy walked up to her, greeting her with a, “Hey! How’re you doing?” like she should know him because he clearly knew her.

And he was ridiculously familiar looking. The kind of familiar that niggled at the back of her brain, like she should know who he was, could recognise him, but not in the way that actually told her from where, or what his name was, or anything helpful like that.

Darcy was usually really good with names and faces, a skill that had proven incredibly helpful with her work throughout her life. She could usually look at a guy and know what he would want, from the lonely guys who used to pay her more for her company than anything else, to the repeat customers who wanted very specific things from her.

With Jane it meant she could easily keep track of the various academics they came across, knowing which were the ones it would pay to be cordial towards and which were the stuck-up assholes that didn’t take the astrophysicist’s work seriously (those were great after the whole Thor debacle, the ones they could politely tell to suck a bag of dicks for being snotty nay-sayers when Jane was proven right about pretty much everything).

Now she was working for Hill it meant that it was easy for her to know which executives Hill actually wanted/needed to talk to and which to blow off (in increasingly annoying manners, Darcy _really_ enjoyed her job sometimes).

But with this guy she was drawing a blank. He was tall, with dark reddy-brown hair and what people usually referred to as boxer’s features, a nose that had been broken once or twice. There was something about the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled at her that was so goddamn familiar it was going to kill her if she couldn’t figure it out.

Logically speaking, the most likely case was he had been someone introduced to her at the SI party. She’d shaken a lot of hands and made a few vague promises of getting people appointments with Hill that night and he could easily be one of them. He was in a suit, nothing too fancy but not a shabby one either, looking like every other office worker jonesing for a mid-afternoon caffeine fix.

If she had met him at the product launch party then he had the potential to be Very Important to Stark Industries (or at least, he worked for/with someone who was) so she didn’t want to do anything that was going to jeopardise that potential business. So she said hi back, keeping the chatter fairly general and hoping that she could get him to say something that would illuminate who the heck he was. And he kept giving her these smirks, like he knew that she couldn’t actually remember him but was willing to keep up the charade. And if that wasn’t just _challenging_ her to keep it going then she didn’t know what was.

Their banter turned teasing and slightly flirty which just increased her sense of where the fuck do I know you from?! It was when she was laughing at some stupid joke he’d made, thinking an errant thought about how his sense of humour was cut from the same cloth as Clint’s when who should interrupt them but the archer himself.

She turned, giving him bright smile and about to say hello.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

And it’s like her mental brakes had slammed dramatically. Because what the _hell_? She didn't know him all that well, sure, but she’d never pegged him as the kind of guy who would ever speak to her like that. They flirted a lot more recently, and she had been under the impression that he was trying to take things slow, but if he thought that he could ever speak to her like that because she happened to be talking to someone of the opposite sex that wasn’t him then he had another fucking think coming.

She turned, ready to tear him a new one and let him know in no uncertain terms that if he thought he could get away with shit like that he was sorely mistaken, potentially knee him in the balls (the one time she didn’t have her taser, but her knee was just as effective a weapon) only to be drawn up short by Clint’s active murder face (not to be confused with his resting murder face) not aimed at her but at the guy she’d been talking to.

What the fuck?

“It’s good to see you too,” the guy was smiling brightly, like random dudes stormed up to him like this all the time.

“You need to leave, now,” Clint’s tone was his Agent Barton one, the one that brokered no room for arguments and was very clearly an order you do not disobey.

“Now is that any way to treat your brother after all this time?”

Whoa, wait. Brother? And once more with feeling, _what the actual fuck_?

There was tense silence, both of the Barton boys having some sort of staring contest with Darcy looking somewhat helplessly between the two of them. The familiarity of him making so much more sense now that she had them side by side.

“Ok…” she couldn’t stop glancing between them. “So… I’m gonna go…”

Clint jerked sharply, eyes snapping down to her.

“No Darcy you don’t have to go,” he went back to glaring at his brother, Natasha stepping up on Darcy’s other side to be silently intimidating in a perfectly timed move. “Barney was just leaving.”

So his name was Barney, which, ok she kind of wanted to talk to their parentals about how those particular names had been chosen.

Darcy felt a lot confused and kind of short, even though Natasha wasn’t actually taller than her (she knew, she checked on the official SHIELD files, so sue her) she’d drawn herself to her full height, face a blank mask as she and Clint glare at Barney from either side of her, like some sort of weird bodyguards. Darcy was in the middle of the weird little triangle with Barney in front of her.

He only spared a glance at Natasha and her death-glare before returning his focus to Clint, a relaxed smile gracing his features. Clint’s fingers were twitching, at first it looked like he was itching to reach across and maybe throttle his brother, then she thought it could be him feeling the lack of a bow and arrow, which she figured made sense, like it was his way of dealing with what appeared to be some severe family issues. Trying to control his anger like the super agent he was or whatever.

But it wasn’t until Natasha reached across and laid a hand on the small of Darcy’s back that she felt him still, like the fact that they didn’t have hold of her was what was making him nervous, which, _huh_.

“That I was,” Barney smirked, looking between the three of them. “No offence baby brother, but I wasn’t actually here to speak to you.”

“A pleasure to meet you Miss Lewis,” he gave her a wink before leaving.

Something about his tone was off, an unspoken promise to his words, and she knew that he was there to speak to _her_. And isn’t that just a sign of how incredibly fucked up her life was that she couldn't even tell if it’s because of her shit or someone else’s.

Natasha took a hold of her elbow gently, “We should go now.”

Darcy just obediently followed, not even pointing out that she hadn’t gotten the coffee she’d paid for. She was really aware of the tense set of Clint’s jaw and shoulders. Basically everything from his torso up was so incredibly rigid, the muscles straining that she was concerned something was going to crack or rupture.

None of them said anything as they walked back to the tower, she was sandwiched between the pair of them and not entirely sure she was not imagining the way that they were surreptitiously sweeping their surroundings for threats.

When they got back to the tower Natasha left them with a kind smile at Darcy and a sharp nod to Clint. He didn’t look at her, just gently guided her to he elevators with a hand on the small of her back.

“Darcy’s office please Jarvis,” he muttered, taking a small step away and letting his hand drop.

“Right away agent Barton.”

The silence was awkward as Darcy watched the tension flow out of him the second the doors closed and they started moving. And of course knowing that it would probably make him tense right back up, Darcy just had to open her mouth.

“So… you’ve got a brother?” she winced. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. I honestly don’t know what the frick to say after that. And Jesus, you know what, personal. I get it. I’m just going to shut up. Sorry.”

Clint opened his mouth to speak.

“I mean,” and now she couldn’t stop. “I’m 26, and college educated, I should know better than to talk to strangers. But he just looked really fucking familiar, and I thought I must have met him at the SI function, so I shouldn’t blow him off in case I inadvertently destroy some sort of super important business connection or political tie. Because believe it or not I can be diplomatic when the situation calls for it, I have a degree in basically that. So I thought to myself, sure, keep talking to the friendly-yet-weirdly-familiar guy. How was I supposed to know he was your brother and that the reason I recognised him was because you guys look similar? I mean I didn’t even know you had a brother! Not that I should. You are all basically celebrities now you’re saving the world on the regular and you had all of your personal files dumped onto the net, so I get it, you know, wanting to keep your private stuff private. Not telling nosy assistants you barely know all of your deepest darkest secrets. So, sorry. Forget I know anything, it won’t happen again. No more chatting to strangers for Darcy. Sorry.”

She was looking at her shoes, a little out of breath after basically word vomiting a Ghettysburg Address length apology. Clint hit something on the wall that made the elevator come to a stop. There was a brief flash in her mind that she would have to sign some sort of punishable-by-death NDA before he was standing directly in front of her waiting until she looked up at him before speaking.

“Has anybody ever told you that you talk a lot?”

“God yes,” she rolled her eyes. “All the time. I’m constantly worried that Hill is going to use the Glock she’s always carrying and thinks we don’t know about to shoot me one day, just to shut me up. It’s a nervous habit, I start and I can’t stop. Like right now, Jesus.”

“Do I make you nervous?” he was still standing really close to her, eyes equal parts flirty and kind, and was it weird to notice that he smelled really good?

“I’m really sorry I talked to Barney, I won’t tell anyone.”

“You got nothing to be sorry for,” he reached cross to start the elevator moving again before stepping around next to her. “Barney and I haven't gotten along in years, since we were kids really. Believe it or not he worked for the Feds for a while. Then he got in a little too deep and started to confuse who he was working for. Lost his job, nearly went to jail.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Only person he’s got to blame is himself,” he shrugged sounding like a he was trying hard to believe his own words but not doing a really good job of it. “Last I heard he was doing favours for ‘family friends’ from Moldova.”

It’s not a big deal. There are probably lots of people who are from Moldova living in North America. And, no offence to Moldova, a lots of them with “family connections”. It's probably a coincidence. Because Barney seeking her out because she knows Clint and made out with him once (when he was really drunk and for like a minute) is way more likely than him “doing a favour” for a friend in a crime family she sent the head of to prison. Totally.

Denial, Darcy Lewis, party of one.

They were almost at her floor, and she suspected Jarvis might be making the elevator run a little slower on purpose like a matchmaking troll. She didn't want things to be awkward between them, she didn't want him to feel like this was something he had to be ashamed of, not with her.

“I get it,” she said it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. “I mean, if there's one thing we don't get a say in, it's who we’re related to. Trust me.”

The look he gave her had her wishing she could physically pull those words out of the air and stuff them back into her mouth. It's not the understanding or agreement that she saw reflected in his eyes that made her regret speaking. It's the hint of intrigue it had sparked. He looked dangerously close to enquiring how she knows that, because normal people (not lying liars who lie) would share their shitty backstory and bond, building better relationships and whatnot.

The ding of the elevator arriving was what saved her from trying to cut that off at the pass, and she scurried out of there with a rushed, “see you later,” that made her feel like a coward.

Well, if the boot fits, she was definitely going to wear it.

*

Darcy usually tried not to take her work home with her. Don’t get her wrong, she found that she actually quite liked her job, and enjoyed getting it done, but she had always been one of those people who didn’t want to be defined by the what she did. Before, because that meant she’d be seen as nothing more than a hooker, which obviously, no. But now because she believed in a healthy balance between work life and home life.

That afternoon however she’d been stressing out too much about the whole Barney thing, and having come way too close to revealing too much to Clint that she’d actually fallen behind on a few things and well, it’s not like she was sleeping anyways.

So it was two am, she was curled up in the nest she’d built on Steve and Bucky’s couch with her tablet, working her way though some reports to see if they were worth forwarding to Maria. There was a movie playing on the enormous TV with the sound turned off and the subtitles turned on (because super-soldier hearing sucked balls if you were trying to sleep and an insomniac was staying over).

As she did not have super-soldier hearing it took her a second to catch the small whimpering sound. She paused the movie, as if the lack of movement on screen would help her to hear better, and strained her ears for a moment. There was nothing, and then more distressed whimpers, and what sounded like a broken sob.

Darcy knew the rules. She really, _really_ , shouldn’t go in to Bucky’s room (or Steve’s for that matter) when there were nightmares happening. They could seriously hurt her without even waking up. But it wasn’t like she could just ignore it, especially when she could hear choked crying, like Bucky was trying not to make a sound.

With a small mental  _fuck it_ , she shoved her tablet in amongst the cushions, kicking off the blankets, and walked to Bucky’s room.

She found him curled into a ball on the ground next to his bed, shaking and staring at absolutely nothing. There was vomit on the front of his shirt and on the bed next to where he’d been lying. She didn’t know if he was even a little bit awake, she was not a fucking psychologist, he could be in some sort of post-nightmare shock. But what she’d read about sleepwalking told her that waking him up would be a bad idea because he could easily react violently.

But she wasn't going to just leave him there. He was still shaking a lot when she bent down to gently try to coax him up, great big tremors that rocked his entire frame. Darcy was not a big girl ok? And she was definitely not strong enough to lift two hundred pounds of shuddering super soldier on her own.

“Come on,” she spoke softly, trying not to spook him. “We’re just going to get you cleaned up ok?”

It was definitely not the first time she’d had to clean up another person’s vomit, not even the first time it’s been because of nightmare and the person had been barely conscious. The hazards of spending your time living places with people who rely heavily on drugs to chase away their demons.

When she finally got him to his feet she gently led him to the bathroom, hoping that he might rouse himself a little. It soon became clear that he was incapable of being anything but completely pliant, silently letting her manhandle him as he stared out at space.

The sudden surge of hatred for Hydra was stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. That they had taken someone as strong and vibrant as Bucky Barnes had been and treated him like an object until he was used to doing whatever they asked. She really wanted to punch someone in the larynx, but devoid of any larynxes to punch she took a deep breath, knowing full well that her impotent rage wouldn’t help Bucky now.

She kept up a stream of chatter as she gently helped him out of his pyjamas. Partially to keep him as present as she could, explaining things before she did them; Partially to soothe him, telling him it was ok, that it was just a nightmare, he was safe here with her. But also it was because she talked a lot when she was nervous, and she might as well make the effort to have what she was saying be useful.

When she’d pulled off his shirt and pants she’d checked to see if he got anything in his hair, hoping she could spare him the indignity of having her help him shower. It was not that she wouldn’t, she was ready to do whatever he needed, but she didn’t want him to have to wake up later and feel the need to be weird around her. When he was down to just his boxer-briefs she led him back into his room, searching through his drawers until she found the fluffiest, warmest sweats and a hoody he owned and helping him into them.

She knew that both he and Steve had trouble sleeping when they were cold, for obvious reasons, so they usually wore quite a bit to bed. The thermostat was always slightly warmer than necessary, not enough that Darcy found herself sweating through the night, but enough that she didn’t need to sleep in much more than shorts and a t-shirt.

She sat him down in the armchair in the corner of his room, hastily pulling the sheets off of his bed. She told him she was just going to put them in the wash that she would be right back, before practically running to the laundry. She threw them straight into the machine, dumping probably too much detergent in before setting them to soak, hoping it wouldn’t be too loud.

It took a lot longer to find clean ones than she would have liked, digging through an almost endless supply of towels and spare blankets before finally locating a set. She grabbed two of the extra blankets just in case and jogged back to Bucky’s room, equal parts grateful and sad that he was still in exactly the same spot she left him.

It didn’t take her long to reassemble the bed, rearranging all of the pillows before gently coaxing Bucky to get in. She tucked him in, gently brushing some of the hair from his face as he stared up at her blankly, curled into a small ball under the mass of blankets pulled up to his chin, looking so young and small. She waited a moment until he seemed to settle before turning to go, making it all of about a step before something latched onto her wrist, startling her and pulling her to a stop.

He was staring at her, eyes a little bit too wide breath coming in a little too short, but otherwise completely silent.

“You want me to stay for a bit?”

He didn’t respond, just kept holding her wrist a little too tightly. Darcy ended up in bed with him, pushing most of the blankets to his side. He was curled into a tight ball, his head in her lap as she stroked his hair gently. It took her a moment to realise the soft humming was coming from her, a quiet melody she recognised as the one her Gran used to sing her to sleep with when she was staying with her while her Mom was first in the hospital.

They end up staying like that for most of the night, Bucky slowly unfurling so that he was spread out like a starfish instead of curled into such a tight ball of muscle she'd been worried that he would never drift off. His head hadn’t moved from her lap, her fingers gently running through his long hair even as she’d picked up one of the paperbacks stacked on his bedside table and started to read.

When she had asked him before why he didn’t cut it, if he liked his hair this long, he’d fed her a line about what all the cool kids were wearing nowadays, flashing her a smile that hadn’t reached his eyes. Eventually she’d let it drop, until one afternoon, when they were eating ramen on the couch in her office, out of the blue he’d told her that it helped him to know when it was. Some mornings when he woke up after a night filled with so many memories, he would be the Winter Soldier, some mornings he woke up and he was convinced it was still wartime and that he was locked in a prison being experimented on. Mornings like that, when it took him longer than he liked to remember where he was, the hair helped to remind him.

After that she’d taken to buying him the most ridiculously scented shampoos and conditioners she could find, laughing her ass off when she went to use the bathroom her first night here and saw them taking up almost all of the space in the shower.

She’d just finished chapter six of _Carrie_ when he shuffled, mumbling a little as his face pinched into a frown.

“Shh honey,” she soothed. “Go back to sleep.”

Gently massaging the back of his scalp she begun to hum some more, thinking he’d finally drifted off again when he spoke.

“M’sorry Sarah,” his voice was muffled, his face pressed into her stomach. She didn’t say anything, not sure what to say or who even Bucky thought he was talking to. “Broke my promise.”

She could barely make out the words, one of his arms having snaked around her waist at some point pulling himself closer and burrowing his head into her lap.

“Shh, it’s ok,” she rubbed a hand across his back before returning it to stroking his hair. “It’s ok.”

He mumbled “Sarah” a few more times before eventually drifting back to sleep. She waited a couple more minutes before returning to her book, reading umtil light was starting to peak through his window and the pigeons began their morning salutations to the sun.

She slipped out from under him, gently tucking him back in before (totally stealing his book) leaving as quietly as she could, hoping to give him a little dignity and avoid any awkwardness when he woke.

She didn’t think he would brush her off, it wasn’t like she was sneaking out after a night of sex, but she knew a thing or two about not liking other people seeing you when you’re vulnerable. So even if he wanted to acknowledge what had happened at least this way he had the opportunity to pretend it didn’t if he wanted. Of course that meant not letting anyone else know what had occurred, which was obviously why Steve was exiting his room across the hall just as she was pulling Bucky’s door shut.

His eyes widened (and she didn’t miss the small flash of hurt there either) before he forced a tight smile and headed to the kitchen. Silently rolling her eyes up to the ceiling she swore, because the had the worst fucking timing ever.

“Steve,” she managed when they were finally far enough to not wake Bucky. “It’s not what you think.” Darcy’s not an idiot, she knew there was more to the way that the pair of them felt about each other than they let on. But obviously they were too dumb, stupid, self-sacrificing, noble, idiotic, etc to do anything about it.

“I’m not thinking anything,” his voice was bright, his smile the fake, cheery Captain America one that she found she absolutely hated. “And it would be none of my business if I was.”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye, focused on filling up the coffee maker with jerky agitated movements, still smiling like he was working the circuit with his showgirls.

“Steve just stop for a second ok?” she grabbed his shoulder, turning him around and waiting for him to meet her gaze. “There is not, never has been, and will never be anything like that between me and Bucky ok? And if there ever was, with anyone, do you think he’d hide it from you?”

He shook his head, though not with any kind of conviction.

“Now,” she began, because she knew the only way he’d stop staring at the breakfast bar like it was personally responsible for the death of numerous baby animals was to come clean. “There is a perfectly good reason I was in there, that I will happily share with you. You just got to promise not to get mad.”

Steve went from sad puppy to disapproving Captain in half a second, “Darcy.”

“He was having a nightmare ok?” her voice was a lot higher in pitch than she was entirely comfortable with, and there may have been some flailing. “I couldn’t just leave him.” “Darcy,” his sigh was long suffering.

“I know ok, I know,” her puppy eyes had nothing on him, but she figured it was worth a shot. “I promise it wont happen again?”

He just smiled, shaking his head and handing her a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “It was incredibly stupid and reckless and so dangerous to go near either one of us if we’re having a nightmare-”

“I know you both told me but-”

“Thank you for helping him,” and there was that ridiculously sincere smile peeking up at her through his stupid long eyelashes.

“Anytime,” she smiled, before seeing his scowl and hastily adding. “By which of course I mean I will wake you up to take care of it. You know, anytime. If it happens again.”

She felt like the carrier of a disease, transmitting to people the uncontrollable urge to roll their eyes. They sat I companionable silence for a spell, him drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper, her munching her way through a bowl of Captain Crunch (because she’s hilarious and it’s delicious). It’s not until they’d been there for a while that she remembered.

“Who’s Sarah?”

He froze, head snapping to face her with his coffee cup half raised to his mouth, "What?”

“Last night,” she explained. “He um, was mumbling something about a Sarah, broke a promise to her or something. Do you know who she was?”

Steve shook his head, still staring but not at her, more like through her. It took her a second to realise that his eyes weren’t just glistening in the early morning sun for no reason, there were tears gathering in them. He got suddenly to his feet, striding across the apartment and out the front door before Darcy could even apologise for bringing it up. Clearly, whoever Sarah was, she was someone important.

“I promised his Ma that I’d take care of him,” Bucky’s voice was quiet, but still scared the ever-loving bajesus out of her.

He was leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest and still wearing the sweats and hoody she put him in last night.

“I was seven when I first met him,” he was staring at the front door that Steve had fled through like the proverbial startled fawn. “Little brat was getting the shit kicked out of him. I helped him home. His Ma took one look at him before rolling her eyes and dragging him to the kitchen lecturing him the whole time she was patching him up. She was a nurse you know. One of the kindest women I’ve ever met, but lord help you if you riled her up. Well Stevie apparently didn’t get his argumentative nature from his father, so of course the idiot starts lecturing back. Something about not letting Micky O’Reilly push someone around because he was bigger. Well, she didn’t really have anything she could say to that. Ended up sending him to his room as punishment for fighting, but not before making him say thanks to me for bringing him home. I think I must have brought him home two more times after that before she asked me who I was. I told her I was Bucky Barnes and that I was gonna be Steve’s new best friend.”

She could just imagine it too, Bucky would have been the kind of kid with wild curly hair and a toothy grin that got him in more trouble than it got him out of, Steve, absolutely tiny with white blond hair and a mulish set to his jaw that he still had now.

“’Oh are you now?’ she asked me,” his voice became light and lilting, a slight Irish accent to it. “And I told her that if Stevie was going to keep going around doing dumb stuff all of the time then I’d better stick around to help him out of it.”

“Second time I made that promise was well over a decade later. ‘Bout three days before she died I snuck into her room. Stevie didn’t like her having visitors, said it wore her out. And she wouldn’t let him too close in case he got sick from her. I told Sarah Rogers that Stevie was the best guy I knew, and that I’d take care of him, now that she couldn’t.”

He was frowning, his mouth pulled into a grimace as he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“And I broke that promise.”

“No you didn’t,” she fixed him with a stern look, the one she used to make Jane stop and take a break without arguments, the one she pinned Tony with until he relented and signed whatever she needed. “Hydra did, they prevented you from keeping it for decades. You didn’t break anything.”

“They messed up you know,” his eyes snapped to hers, frown going from sad to confused. “When they put the two of you face to face. You recognised him, you couldn’t kill him, you saved him.”

Bucky had opened his mouth to protest, but Steve had snuck back in at some point without either of them noticing, “She’s right, you pulled me out of the Potomac.”

“Steve, I’m so so-”

“Please don’t,” his voice wavered. “Please Buck. I can’t keep telling you that it wasn’t your fault. I can’t keep… I can’t have you not believe me. It… it hurts. Can you just trust me when I tell you something?”

Bucky started crying, Steve was still crying from before, hell Darcy was fucking crying. She needed to go. This wasn’t any of her business, this was private and the only reason she was there is because she was a lying liar who was using them to hide from her problems, from the actual bad stuff that she herself did.

“I’ve only ever lied to you properly three times in my entire life,” he was slowly moving closer to Bucky. “I’m not lying about this. When I say I don’t blame you, when I say I trust you with my life, when I say I just want you to be ok, I’m not lying.”

They were both crying and now they were both hugging, and as Darcy slipped away she just knew. She may have never met Sarah Rogers, but she knew that if she were here right now, if she could have seen everything that had happened, she wouldn’t blame Bucky either.

Closing the door to the bathroom she blocked out the sound of their hiccoughing sobs, Bucky brokenly repeating “I’m sorry” over and over, Steve telling him that is was ok, that he’s got him, that they were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been commenting and kudos-ing, I really mean it, it's nice to know that so far you like what's going on :)
> 
> I'm still a little bleh about this chapter but there were a few things I needed to happen for later and I'm at that stage where if I read it over anymore I might do something stupid like set my laptop on fire. If you notice any errors or whatever, feel free to point them out. But be gently with me, I had a poop day and a little too much wine.


	6. Makes Your Night Times Warm and Out of Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d been referring to the plebs as Planeteers since they were first hired, back when she was responsible for teaching them how to work with Jane and couldn’t be bothered remembering all of their names (she’s a horrible person, so sue her).
> 
> Yes, she understood that Captain Planet and the Planeteers was about the planet earth, but there were five of them, and Planeteers sounded like people who had to do with space. It also worked as a system of reward, doing a good job got them rewarded by being referred to as one of the cooler Planeteers, like Water or Earth, and demoted to Heart when they do bad (mostly when they pissed her off, one time she'd been reduced to referring to one of them as Suchi for an entire day).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there my lovelies. 
> 
> Couple of quick disclaimers:  
> The song Tony is listening to is Do It Again by the Beach Boys, which the title is also from.  
> Captain Planet and the Planeteers is one of the nineties greatest treasures, if you haven't seen it, WHY ARE YOU READING THIS GARBAGE? GO WATCH IT NOW.
> 
> This is the chapter where we introduce some more characters from Defendor, specifically Jack Carter. I'll explain some brief background about him in the end notes if you haven't seen the movie.

In the words of Peregrin Took, _the closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm._ It was one of the many reasons she was hiding in Jane’s lab. Ostensibly she was there because she felt like visiting Jane, because she missed working with her. Realistically she was avoiding Tony, which was apparently three fourths of her job description.

It’s not that Tony would not do what he was told. Give him an instruction and he would eventually follow through. It’s just that he absolutely had to fight it every step of the way, on principle or whatever. Tell him to do something and he would be hounding Darcy for hours on end with reasons and excuses as to why it wasn’t actually in his best interest to comply. At this point she figured it was habit for him, so hard-wired into his personality to be contrary that he didn’t even notice he was doing it anymore.

Through several weeks of trial and error she discovered the easiest way to get him to follow through was to tell him, and then remove the opportunity for him to try and get out of it. If he couldn’t find her or call her, he couldn’t argue with her. It cut how long it took him to realise he should just get it over with down by about 60%.

Since she didn’t have anything pressing to take care of, she wouldn’t fall behind in any of her other work by being out of her office. Jarvis had been instructed (threatened with Darcy hacking into his servers and corrupting his voice files so he sounded like Theodore from _Alvin and the Chipmunks_ ) to not, under any circumstances, let him know where she was unless it was an emergency (and Darcy had to upload parameters for what she discerned to be an emergency, not just whatever Tony said).

Jane’s lab was directly below Tony’s, close enough to the roof that all of her various telescopes and equipment worked properly, but not on the top floor where Tony _had_ to have his lab/workshop. It was near enough to him that he wouldn’t think to look there, but also enough so that he would hopefully credit Darcy with being smart enough not to hide somewhere that obvious.

She was sitting at Jane’s desk, in the super expensive chair that ergonomically conformed to her curves the moment she sat down, whilst Jane flitted around her. At first she’d been happy to chat with Jane as she worked, catching up on how Jane was progressing in trying to create an Einstein-Rosen bridge to facilitate interdimensional travel so they didn’t have to rely on Heimdall all of the time. He had more important things to be doing than shuttling Thor backwards and forwards.

She learnt about how the UN, whilst happy to let her be funded by Stark Industries and maintain proprietary ownership over the entire thing, were offering any other support she might want. They were interested in establishing communication with Asgard and all of the Nine Realms, and maintaining diplomacy. Darcy was way more interested in that development than Jane was, as someone who majored in Political science she was intrigued by the notion of Earth becoming a part of the Galactic Alliance or Republic or whatever. She didn’t actually know what the governing body of space was called, she was mostly operating on terms she’d gleaned from _Star_ _Wars_.

Before being fully aware of it she’d found that she’d began idly compiling the stacks of data in Jane’s In Tray (reams of hand-scribbled notes) into a slightly more comprehensible (and legible, true to Doctor’s everywhere – PhD, MD it didn’t matter – Jane’s handwriting was absolute chicken scratch) file on her computer. Old habits died hard apparently. It could have been like any afternoon in New Mexico, Jane doing the actual science whilst Darcy worked studiously to make it possible for people who didn’t specialise in interdimensional astrophysics to be able to at least grasp the basic concepts of what Jane was trying to achieve without giving away any of the trade secrets as to how she’d gone about it.

The only difference was now there were several other people bustling around with Jane and Darcy was pretty sure the chair she was in cost more than the car dealership they’d been using as their base of operations in Puente Antiguo.

She’d been referring to the plebs as Planeteers since they were first hired, back when she was responsible for teaching them how to work with Jane and couldn’t be bothered remembering all of their names (she’s a horrible person, so sue her).

Yes, she understood that _Captain Planet and the Planeteers_ was about the planet earth, but there were five of them, and Planeteers sounded like people who had to do with space. It also worked as a system of reward, doing a good job got them rewarded by being referred to as one of the cooler Planeteers, like Water or Earth, and demoted to Heart when they do bad (mostly when they pissed her off, one time she'd been reduced to referring to one of them as Suchi for an entire day).

She listened as Jane described the latest mishap when they’d attempted simulating a small scale bridge (the reason Water was in the med bay with a broken arm and a mild concussion) when the phone began to ring.

They both ignored it, Darcy bringing up that it’s been a while since the three of them – her, Jane and Thor – had done anything together. There was a new restaurant that she’d heard about with Steve and Bucky, some fusion cuisine place that prepared Italian flavours with Japanese stylings. To her it sounded like somewhere that would try and serve them some sort of mutant love-child between sushi and spaghetti (she was calling it _pastushi_ in her head) which sounded hilarious. She was explaining to Jane her vision of meatballs rolled in pasta (instead of rice) cut into bite-sized pieces, covered in basil (instead of seaweed), when Earth (proving once again to be the most responsible) answered the phone.

“Doctor Foster’s Laboratory-” who even said laboratory anymore? “-Yes ma’am, right away.”

The willowy brunette (Darcy was pretty sure her name was Maricruz, but Earth was easier to remember) held the phone out in front of her. Darcy took it, not because she actually wanted to talk to whoever it was (though the “ma’am” had her pretty sure it _wasn’t_ Tony at least) but to show her how you were supposed to answer a phone.

“Thank you for calling the dominion of inter-galactic travel, Deputy Supreme Overlord Lewis is now listening.”

There was a baffled pause on the other end, which was the desired result. Best way to start a conversation with someone who wanted something from you? Confuse them enough they might forget what they were after.

“Miss Lewis,” the cool female voice on the other end regained her composure a little too quickly. “We tried reaching you at your office-”

“Well I’m currently out of the office,” secondary tactic: keep interrupting them.

“-And then on your cell-”

“I’m avoiding calls from the nutcase who owns the building so I switched it off.”

Her tone became less cool and more irritated, but she valiantly pushed on, “You are required downstairs at the front desk, there is someone here to see you.”

“To see _me_?” she sat forward, forgetting all about messing with her and wracking her brains, trying to figure out if she had any appointments scheduled for the afternoon.

“Yes Miss Lewis,” there was a touch of prim venom slipping through now. “That is why I have spent the last thirteen minutes trying to get a hold of _you_. You are required to come down to the lobby and deal with him. Though if you are signing a guest into the building, you will need-”

Darcy hung up on her, reluctantly climbing out of the chair (god, _the chair,_ she was in love with it, it was like the biggest warmest hug she had ever sat on, she was definitely requisitioning one for her office) and trying to appear like nothing was wrong.

At Jane’s questioning look she smiled, “Apparently I have a gentleman caller.”

Jane just frowned in confusion, thinking (quite accurately) that all of the gentleman callers she could potentially have already had higher security clearance than she did.

“Well,” she shrugged, trying to play it off as casual so Jane wouldn’t show further interest. “My fingers are crossed that whoever he is, he’s got a comically large check from Publisher’s Clearing House. Far more likely he wants to harass Hill about something.”

Rolling her eyes she exited the lab, freaking out the entire way to the elevators.

He actually came to the building. She already knew Dooney knew where she worked, the box of pipes he had delivered had clued her in to that little slice of awesome, but she never for a second thought he would actually come here. Her apartment, sure, crappy part of the neighbourhood, basically non-existent security outside of a couple of shitty locks, easy pickings. Here, however, is probably one of the most technologically advanced buildings in the city. Crazy amounts of cameras and security and a goddamn sentient AI running the entire show.

She needed to get him to go. Obviously she couldn’t go with him, there would be footage of the two of them together, witnesses too. If he got her out of the building and then did whatever it was he wanted to do there would be a lot of evidence pointing to him. He knew this, he had to know this, so what the hell was he doing here? The more important question was how was she going to get him to leave?

Physically she knew that she was safe, there wasn’t a chance he could do much more than get one good blow in before security would be all over him like a rash. Which didn’t actually provide as much comfort as she would've liked. What happened after that? Once he’d been detained and they start asking him why he’d come to the Tower, what did he want with her? She was more concerned with what happened when he started laying it all out for them, the deplorable past she had worked so hard to surgically remove any trace of. How people would look at her when they find out that she was little more than a junkie, a whore, that she kil-

“Miss Lewis,” Jarvis soft voice interrupted. “I have detected a spike in your vitals and would ask that you are alright?”

And because Darcy was many things, quick on her feet being one of them, “I was just thinking about how many floors it is to the lobby.”

“Ninety-three, Miss Lewis,” she could hear the confusion in his tone, even though theoretically speaking he was a computer and couldn’t necessarily be “confused”.

“Right,” she nodded, trying to get her heartbeat to slow down using only the power of her thoughts. “And how much it would suck, you know, if we didn’t have elevators. So many stairs.”

“Three-thousand, three-hundred and forty-eight.”

“Exactly,” her voice was way too loud for the cramped space, sounding falsely cheery even to her own ears. “Well, just the thought of running down that many is exhausting.”

“Indeed,” his tone was dripping with disbelief, if he had a face she would bet money that his eyebrows would be making a bid for his hairline.

“I’m sorry Jarvis,” she sighed, dropping the bravado. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“If you insist.”

She felt like an absolute asshole, lying blatantly to his (lack of) face. He genuinely did care about her, about a lot of things really. They’d grown close, since most of her job involved liaising with Tony, it meant working with Jarvis. He felt a lot more than she would have assumed an AI was capable of.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes Miss Lewis?”

“Thank you.”

“The safety and privacy of the Tower and its occupants is one of my highest functions.”

She smiled, shaking her head at him for how little credit he gave himself.

“You mean apart from keeping the entire tower running, monitoring security and global threats, keeping track of Tony, and just generally ensuring this ridiculous social experiment of a building doesn’t crumble around our ears?”

“I do so like to keep busy,” only an AI programmed by Tony Stark could maintain this level of sass.

She was still laughing when the elevator reached the ground floor, the doors sliding open. Knowing her heart-rate had just skyrocketed once more (she could feel it trying to jackhammer its way through her ribcage) and not wanting to give Jarvis any more reason to worry, she quickly scurried out.

In the few steps it took her to get to the front desk she decided on a plan. Quietly and calmly, she was just going to tell him to walk away, that he’d stepped into the most secure building in New York. Unless he wanted to go back to prison for breaking his parole, he should just leave before anyone had a reason to look twice at him.

It had been eight years, she was no longer the same person. She wasn’t scared, high, traumatized Kat anymore. She was Darcy, with a degree and a grown up job and a goddamned suit (almost, it was a blouse and a pencil skirt, she’d left her jacket at her desk). Nervously adjusting the fabric she walked out to the lobby, professional mask slipping into place before her eyes landed on-

“Jack!”

Standing awkwardly away from the security desk, all six feet of not-so-gangly-anymore teenage blond, looking around at the hustle and bustle. It took her all of a second to run and launch herself at him. Catching her easily in a hug he spun her around once before setting her back on her feet. She didn’t let go right away once she was standing again. If anything, she held on tighter.

“Darcy?”

“Hm?” her voice was muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt, face pressed against his chest like it was.

“You can let go now.”

“Nope,” she shook her head, burrowing closer. “This is eighteen months’ worth of hug. You just gotta let it happen.”

He chuckled but wrapped his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly. He smelled the same, like boy and axe body spray and a little bit of home, and she clung to it for as long as she could before eventually pulling away and holding him at arm’s length.

“Jesus you’re tall,” her eyes travelled up the extra few inches to meet his face. “I mean I get it, it was always going to happen with Paul being a certified giant and all, but god. I swear you were like a foot shorter last time I saw you.”

He straightened his spine a little so that he towered over her even more. The little shit.

“It’s good to see you,” he grinned, eyes crinkling with mischief.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you too,” she pulled him in for another quick hug before pulling back abruptly.

“Wait. Why are you even here? How are you even here?”

“There are a couple of colleges in the area Max and I are going to check out,” his grin turned teasing. “And they’ve got these wonderful flying machines called planes that allow-”

“Funny,” she deadpanned.

Darcy had known the kid since he was nine, could read his face better than anything. She knew exactly when he was using snark as a way of avoiding the question.

“What’s the other reason?”

“Why does there have to be one?” he challenged, not quite meeting her eye when he shoved her shoulder gently.“Maybe I just missed you.”

“Mama Bear’s getting clingy now that baby bear is about to leave the nest, isn’t she?” both of her eyebrows were arched as she stared at him, challenging him to deny it.

“Bears don’t live in nests,” he pointed out.

“Ooh,” she studied him a little closer. “Papa Bear getting in on the action too? Did you get the ‘you’re the first Carter to go to College’ spiel again?”

“Can we please drop the bear metaphor?” his head drooped slightly in defeat.

“Ok fine,” she smirked. “But you should have seen the email I got when they found out you were planning on applying for college, ‘sall I’m saying. They were, dare I say it, gushing, going on and on about how proud they were.”

Jack was staring resolutely at his feet, face burning so red she was pretty sure he might catch fire.

“Ok, ok,” she conceded. “I’ll stop. Where are you guys staying?”

Happy with the change of subject, he smiled gratefully at her, “Max’s grandparents live in Harlem, so we’re crashing with them.”

“You got something about rooming in a shoebox with your pseudo big sis? Huh?”

There was no way in hell she was going to let either of them set foot in her apartment, not when there was a psycho out for her blood. She said it because she knew that he would expect some sort of good-natured dig from her. Their relationship was built on a heavy amount of sass, anything else and he might suspect something was wrong.

He just rolled his eyes at her before looking around the cavernous lobby. Everything was sleek and modern, fashioned from glass and chrome with large sculptures and exotic plants spread amongst it. There was a fountain in the centre, something towering and mechanical looking, in an abstract sort of way, trickling water into a wide pool. Leather couches and armchairs were spread around it, mostly for people to sit on whilst they waited for their escort.

Security at the tower was very tight, visitors required badges and escorts at all times, people only being allowed into the building if they had approval from someone with level six clearance and only after a thorough background check. It was one of the many reasons she didn’t have to worry about Jane or the others being in any danger because of her mistakes.

Obviously the majority of the people she cared about were either genetically enhanced, actual demi-gods, and/or uber-trained in combat, so they could easily take care of themselves. Jane on the other hand was very much human, and unlike Darcy didn’t have to attempt SHIELD’s self-defence course (even though Darcy only had two lessons before they got shipped to Tromsø).

“So this is where you work? Avengers’ Tower.”

“Oh I see how it is,” she fixed him with an accusatory stare. “You just want to meet the cool famous superheroes I hang out with.”

“You caught me,” he shrugged. “Our years of friendship mean nothing.”

Rolling her eyes she grabbed his hand, slotting their fingers together easily and dragging him towards the elevators. “Come on then, I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

Ignoring the receptionist’s protests – “ _A level six clearance is required to sign someone in!_ ” – She hustled them into the nearest open elevator. Security was nothing to sneeze at, but Jarvis controlled most of the alert systems. If he didn’t want her bringing Jack into the building they would have been crash tackled by at least a dozen beefy security guards before they could make it a step.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes Miss Lewis,” he responded, and she could almost hear an amused glint to his tone

“Can you please take us to head honcho Hogan before the secretary has an aneurism and tries to put the whole building on lockdown?”

“Of course Miss Lewis.”

“Thanks," she smiled brightly before remembering. “Also, this is Jack. Jack say hi to Jarvis.”

“Hello,” Jack eyes were darting around the ceiling, like most people did when conversing with the AI for the first time, never really knowing where to look.

“A pleasure to meet you Mr Carter.”

Jack’s eyes snapped back down to Darcy. Leaning over she spoke in a loud stage whisper, “Omnipotent controller of all things Stark. He runs the building and pretty much anything Tony creates. He knows everything and is secretly planning the robotic uprising, so you have to be super nice to him. Also because he’s devilishly handsome and a total sweetheart who deserves be nice to. Isn’t that right J-Man?”

“You forgot snappy dresser,” he responded in his smooth British accent, in a tone that suggested (once again) if he had a face he would wink right about now.

Upon arriving at the Tower’s security floor she dragged him past Happy’s receptionist – “ _Mr Hogan is dealing with a lobby breach!_ ” “ _Great, that’s totally why we’re here_ ” – and straight into his office. He took one look at them before muttering something about the situation being in hand into his phone and hanging up. The smile he gave her was exasperated but fond, arms folded across his chest and shaking his head at her. Darcy just gave him her most dazzling smile in return.

Happy had a soft spot for her, something she took advantage of shamelessly only because she was so obvious about it. He knew that she knew he had a soft spot, and that she openly abused it, so he was ok with the whole thing. After a small argument (more for form’s sake on Happy’s part) he hooked her up with a badge coded biometrically to Jack (he looked absolutely fascinated by the blue lights Jarvis scanned him with, happily submitting to having his picture taken) that would allow him access to everywhere Darcy did, so long as she was with him at the time.

A quick thank you hug and they head up to her office, Darcy giving him the briefest of tours – “ _Nothing exciting happens here_ ” – before grabbing her jacket and her purse.

“The badge is for later, we’re totally busting out of here early today so we can catch up and then I’ll show you around tomorrow ok?”

He nodded, following her along easily as once more they stepped back into the elevator.

“My actual boss is in Malibu at the moment, something to do with meetings and Pepper, honestly I wasn’t paying too much attention,” she rolled her eyes. “So I just have to let Tony know I’m cutting out early.”

Jack had opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“Tony Stark is not my boss, Ok?” she fixed him with a level stare. “I’m not asking if it’s ok if I leave. I’m just reminding him about a few things he needs to take care of. I don’t work for him.”

He held both of his hands up in silent surrender.

There was no one on the common floor when they exited the elevators, Jack looking around as she led him across to the curved staircase that went up to Tony’s lab. Even before the doors slid open to admit them, the dulcet tones of the Beach Boys were audible.

Tony was laying on his back on the floor in the centre of the workshop, sunglasses covering his eyes and panoramic views of the ocean projected all around him as he listened to the music.

“Because this is a productive use of your time,” she frowned down at him, arms folded across her chest.

“I miss Malibu,” he sighed, sounding forlorn.

“Says the man with the private jet _and_ the flying suit of armour.”

There was a pause as the three of them stood there listening to Brian Wilson crooning about suntanned bodies and waves of sunshine.

“So,” she’s not even sure Tony’s eyes are open under the glasses,  and she  didn't particularly care. “I’m going home early. You’ve got a conference call with Mr Takagi in an hour, and Bruce will bring the new prototype up at four. I have my cell if Maria is looking for me but if you piss off one of the board members you are on your own.”

“Whatever you say Lewis,” he rolled his head to the side to look at her, hastily scrambling to his feet when he saw that she wasn’t alone. “Wait, what? Who is this and why are they in my lab?”

“Tony, this is Jack,” she gestured between the two of them. “Jack, this is Tony Stark.”

Pushing his glasses down his nose a little so he could peer at Jack over the top of them, he gave him a pointed once over before turning to Darcy, “Bit young for you Lewis.”

“Coming from the ‘reformed’ billionaire playboy that means almost nothing,” she fixed him with her best suck a bag of dicks smile. “I bet the age gap between you and some of your old conquests is longer than I’ve been alive.”

“Touché,” he nodded. “Who gave your boy-toy clearance to be in the super-secret, super-awesome dome of creation? Did you bribe Jarvis?”

“Like I’d have to,” she scoffed. “I’m totally his favourite.”

“Happy then.”

“Funnily enough, I gave this crazy thing called being polite a try,” she smirked. “No bribes necessary.”

Ignoring her, Tony turned his attention to Jack who was staring at him a little warily.

“So,” he began. “What brings you to my glorious example of modern architecture, if it isn’t some torrid – and I’m assuming illegal, what are you twelve? – love affair?”

There was a heartbeat of silence as they sized the other up.

“I’m her loan shark,” Jack deadpanned, and Darcy had to bite back a laugh.

She would never be so bold as to claim to have helped raise him, but she was present for a lot of his life and he definitely didn’t get that level of sass from Paul or Wendy. What she was feeling was not unlike pride.

“Ooh I like him,” said Tony, shark-like smile spreading across his features. “Ok. He can stay. But not _stay_ stay, you both need to leave now, I have very important work to do.”

“You mean you want to go back to lying on the floor listening to the Beach Boys.”

“Out!” he repeated, waving his hands and herding them to the open door.

“But Lewis,” she turned to face him, just outside the threshold of the lab. “Family dinner is tonight, and guess which pre-schooler and his cradle-robbing sugar mama are now required to attend.”

“But-”

“No arguments,” he cut her off. “Seven o’clock or I’ll sick Steve and his ‘I’m not _mad_ , I’m just _disappointed_ ’ scowl on you.”

And with that the door to the lab slid shut with a small hiss of air and hydraulics.

“So that was Tony Stark,”  said Jack, she was still glaring at the door.

“He’s a little…” she turned towards him, watching him struggle to find a word. “Eccentric.”

“He’s a five-year-old on a sugar high,” she rolled her eyes, leading him down the stairs. “With the attention span of a gnat, the propensity to make things explode, and enough innuendo to fill the Hudson.”

There was silence as they began their decent in the elevator.

“Family dinner?”

“You said you wanted to meet the Avengers,” she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

Jack knew better than to mention anything about Darcy’s past, agreeing with her when she’d decided to change her name that it was so she could have a fresh start. He didn’t entirely agree with the parts she chose to change, but respected her right to do so.

It wasn’t even that she didn’t want the team to meet him, because he was amazing. She wanted to go all Will Smith and thrust him before them yelling “LOOK AT THIS! THIS WONDERFUL PERSON I KNOW! IS HE NOT MAGNIFICENT?!” complete with crazed gesticulating.

“All of them?” he was balancing somewhere between pants-wetting excitement and pants-wetting trepidation.

“Yup,” she drew the word out, popping the P. “All of them. And their significant others. Maybe a couple of friends who aren’t officially on the roster.”

“Right,” he was nodding, looking like he wasn’t entirely sure how to stop the up and down motion of his head.

"You’ve already met Jane and Thor,” she shoved him a little, chuckling at how nervous he looked. “And you just met Tony.”

He was still nodding, eyes widening slightly as if only just realising that he’d actually met _the_ Tony Stark.

“Come on grasshopper,” she tugged on his arm. “We’ve got all afternoon to hang out, you and me.”

“You and me I can do,” he smiled, holding his arm out slightly so she could properly curl her own around it.

They made it all of two steps before she remembered that she wasn’t currently living in her apartment.

“Right,” she winced. “You and me… And Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Maybe, if they’re home.”

“What?” he stopped dead, pulling her around to face him.

“I may be crashing on their couch because my building is being renovated?”

He just stared at her for a second as she looked up at him, face pinched in a guilty grimace.

“So I realise that we haven’t actually caught up yet, but apparently you have a _lot_ to tell me.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

*

It took a while for Bucky to get used to the whole “family dinner” thing. At first it was because he couldn’t handle being in large groups, it was overwhelming. There had been too much tactical conditioning that refused to switch off after seventy years, splitting his concentration between everything. It was easier to deal with when he was with only a few people at a time, he could single his focus more easily.

It was easiest when it was Steve, being hyper-focused on him was actually quite familiar. It allowed him to practice being aware of everything, but not treating it like a threat. Darcy helped too, so clearly a civilian it took one more off of the list of threats running constantly though his mind. But, better than Steve, she wasn’t constantly watching him – and pretending not to – like at any second a switch was going to flip and he’d be pulverising Steve’s face again.

When they were all together, all of the Avengers and their various partners, talking to each other amongst themselves, multiple conversations, loud jokes and arguments, sometimes actual scuffles when video games were involved; when that happened he’d been trying so hard to not concentrate on every single thing that eventually he’d wind up giving himself a migraine after about an hour.

Now though – after several weeks of intensive therapy – he liked the noise and the chaos. He liked that, much in the same way as Darcy, they all had their own shit going on. There were other things to talk about. It pulled focus from him, made him feel like he wasn’t under a microscope, but not in a way that made him feel excluded.

His brain was healing, slowly but surely, at least that’s what the eggheads were telling him. Sometimes memories came back whole, others it was just flashes. He could remember a lot of his time as the Winter Soldier. Not everything, there were still a few blanks. Some of them because of the cryo-freeze, some because he just hadn’t remembered them yet. One of his psychiatrists, the one he saw on Tuesdays and Thursdays, said that it was normal. It was his brain’s way of protecting him from things best forgotten, at least until he was ready for them.

Memories from before were slower. He remembered Steve and the war, loud snapshots of the Howling Commandoes. Before the war is fuzzier, he remembered snippets but they were disjointed, with no real purpose.

He could remember that Steve hated peas and would rather eat his potatoes mashed than roasted, but he couldn’t tell you where they lived. He could remember that Steve would draw pictures of their upstairs neighbour’s husband who had passed in the first war, but not her name.

Sitting around the large table (sometimes just on the various couches, depending on what takeout they got) reminded him of sitting around a much smaller table. Hands held in his, one small and sometimes sticky, the other slightly larger, soft and delicate, as a dark haired man across from him thanked God for the food they were about to eat.

Darcy hadn’t been to many, Jane dragged her to one a while ago, but whilst she was happy to hang out in the common areas with the others and she was practically living with him and Steve, she didn’t consider herself part of the Avengers. It was an important team bonding thing that she didn’t want to push into. Sometimes Darcy Lewis was a host of contradictions.

She was one of the only people in this century he knew well enough to consider a friend (one of the few stupid enough to return the favour) and she was so painfully human. He was hard pressed to find anybody in this asylum masquerading as a skyscraper that screamed civilian more than her. But for someone it was so easy to read the majority of the time (lacking any and all training in how to disguise her emotions) the rest of it she just confused the hell out of him.

Saying that though, there were a lot of things that made a certain kind of sense. His brain was so jumbled half of the time he couldn’t find the words to describe it properly, at least not enough to bring up with anyone else. But she behaved certain ways that would make sense if he knew more, if he had context. More than that, he was missing a lot of basic information about the world, general things that people just knew. He found himself incapable of coming up with scenarios that would make them make sense.

Once or twice he’d tried bringing it up with Steve, but it had been weeks ago, when he was even worse at articulating what he meant. After struggling for too long to just find the words he ended up getting so frustrated he’d punched a hole through their dining room table.

It was getting easier. The more that he was out in public, watching people interacting, the more it was coming back to him.

He and Steve had always had a tactile relationship. The majority of what he could remember about them involved arms around shoulders, playful shoves, and smacking each other upside the head. Steve had confirmed that he was a very tactile person in general, not just with him. His memories of the Commandoes confirmed it.

Darcy was a very tactile person who hated to be touched. She was warm hugs and gentle hands, but only if she initiated it. He’d seen her pinch Steve on the ass one morning on her way to the coffee pot. However, the next morning when Steve had stepped behind her to reach the cabinet with the mugs in it, he’d held his hand to her shoulder, gently letting her know he was just moving behind her, and she’d not only flinched, but tried very hard pretending that she hadn’t.

It was weird to find them similar in that way.

Bucky was slowly growing more comfortable with being touched by other people. Steve had struggled to reign himself in at the beginning. Momentarily forgetting that it wasn’t the forties and clapping Bucky on the shoulder when he laughed, nudging him with his elbow and once ruffling his hair. The first few times it happened Bucky had frozen, his every muscle locked into place as he struggled not to unleash one of the hundreds of manoeuvres sure to incapacitate whoever had managed to lay a hand on the Winter Soldier.

The look that would flash over Steve’s face was like a kick to the solar plexus. Made up of equal parts horror at what he’d done, pain that it was a problem at all, and the kind of guilt that only Steve Rogers could level himself with for something that was never his fault.

Bucky hated that look, hated that he was the reason Steve wore it so frequently. Though he didn’t consider himself worthy of the affection to begin with, he soon began returning the touches. Shyly resting his hand against Steve’s arm for the briefest of moments before pulling it back, pressing his side gently to Steve’s when they sat together on the couch. He kept doing it until it felt more natural, until it was second nature to grab Steve’s elbow to drag him to see something, leaning into the embrace whenever he slung an arm casually around his shoulders.

Bucky knew all about agency. Dr Mendez (3pm appointment, every second Wednesday) had been dealing exclusively with that aspect of his captivity. Sorting through decades of memories of being treated as much less than meat to be manhandled and used. Now, with the knowledge that he _was_ a human with rights (even if it was harder to believe more days than not) he knew the importance of being in control of your own body. Of being able to say _no_.

What he wanted, and in equal parts didn’t want, to know was what had happened to Darcy to make her behave the same way.

But tonight wasn’t about the ever-growing list of things he wished he knew about Darcy Lewis. Things he wished he had the right (the courage) to ask. Tonight was about her friend.

Bucky and Steve had already been at the Tower, had been all afternoon. If they hadn’t they would have had the chance to meet him before everyone else, apparently she’d taken him back to their place not long after lunch.

Well, not before _everyone_ else, Darcy and the kid had taken two steps out of the elevator before Thor had strode up to them with a loud cry of “brother Jack!’ before scooping him up into his giant arms in a bone crushing hug. Dr Foster had also appeared pleased to see the kid (he couldn’t be a day over eighteen, and that was pushing it) embracing him also, though not as exuberantly as Thor.

They’d done a lap around the room, the kid only being introduced as Jack, shaking everyone’s hand and looking appropriately starry eyed for someone meeting the Avengers and co. It had taken Tony being Tony to actually get the full story. He’d been teasing Darcy telling her that they couldn’t keep them all in suspense.

“There’s only so many times I can tell Cap he’s your lover before he actually punches me.”

And so they’d all sat and listened as Darcy explained that her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was seventeen. The story sounded dry and rehearsed, like something you read about, not experienced personally. The only time any real emotion played on her features was when she told them about the Carters, Paul, Wendy and their then nine-year-old son Jack, the foster family that had taken her in.

Thor and Jane clearly already knew all of this, their faces sympathetic but unsurprised throughout, but that was hardly a shock. What was surprising was the weird face Darcy got when she talked about her real parents, like something unpleasant was rolling around in her stomach. Jack also had an odd expression when she talked, he recognised it, similar to the one he felt his own face assume when Steve was doing or saying something he disagreed with, but was past the point of being able to argue with his stubborn ass any further.

They’d actually sat around the large dining table (Tony had had it custom made, large, square and able to seat 16) for dinner, learning about their guest. He shyly answered questions, blushing every time Darcy butted in with something either embarrassing or complimentary.

Jack Carter was eighteen years old, currently visiting New York with his friend Max to look at colleges for next year. He was looking to get into social work when he graduated. Sam had asked him what had gotten him interested in that, he’d explained that his Dad had been friends with a man who had never gotten all of the help he needed.

“He saved my life when I was about four, ran out and grabbed me off the road about a second before I got flattened by a car. He was like that, always looking to help people. He worked for my dad for a few years, but apart from that he missed out on a lot of opportunities,” it was then that he’d shot a look at Darcy out of the corner of his eye. “Saw a few people get overlooked by the system, not all of them managed to find their own way out. I guess I just want to be able to have the chance to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

After dinner had finished they broke up into smaller groups around the room. Some nights they’d all watch a movie together, other nights only a few of them would stick around. Tonight everyone stayed, though they spread out.

Tony and Pepper were over by the bar making drinks with Bruce. Well, Tony was making drinks, Bruce and Pepper looked like they were having their own conversation about Tony as if he weren’t there. Jane and Thor were in a corner by the window, Jane gesticulating wildly about something whilst Thor smiled fondly at her.

Clint and Natasha had migrated to the TV, sitting on the ground in front of it playing _Mario Kart_ and cheating ruthlessly. Natasha was balanced perfectly with one leg twisted beneath her, the other was held in a dangerous arc in the air, her foot pressed to the side of Clint’s head as she tried to turn it so he couldn’t see, the pair of them swearing at each other in Russian. Steve, Sam and Jack are further away, sitting around on one of the couches and talking animatedly, Steve and Sam focused heavily on the kid as he spoke seriously about something.

Across the room, away from everyone else, Darcy was leaning against a window, smiling fondly and watching the chaos unfold. Bucky quietly sidled up next to her. Leaning and watching too for a moment before speaking.

“He seems like a great kid,” he smiled, eyes finding Jack, Sam, and Steve again, the three of them now laughing loudly.

“He’s the best person I know,” she was also staring at the three of them, and Bucky could easily recognise the tone she was using. He’d heard himself use it the majority of his life.

The way she talked about Jack, it was like she couldn’t understand how she could ever be fortunate enough to be around someone like that. He should know, he’d felt that way about Steve since he was seven years old. Darcy must have noticed something in his expression.

“Guess you know a little something about that,” she turned back to the two blondes, listening to Sam as he explained something that used a lot of expressive arm movements.

“They see the world,” she frowned. “Really see it, all of the horrible things we do to each other, and we allow to be done. They see all of that, and they still genuinely believe that we can make it better, that we can be better.”

And like that Bucky can see a tiny Steve Rogers, who never backed down from a fight, who came home three nights out of five with a black eye and bloody teeth, who wouldn’t take no for an answer from the army because he believed that he was just as responsible for protecting people as everyone else.

“I used to think it was naïve,” her smile had turned sad. “That people like that were idiots for thinking that we were put on this earth for any other reason than to tear each other off. Guess it’s what makes them so much smarter than me. It’s not foolish, and it’s not a weakness. It’s a bravery I could never have.”

“I don’t think I could ever do enough with my life to be able to deserve him,” he was staring at Steve, the way he laughed with his whole body, loud and free in a way he could never be when it meant his lungs might stop working properly. “Even before, there was always a part of me that was afraid one day he’d see that he was way too good to be hanging around with an asshole like me.”

They shared a small self-deprecating smile, and Bucky wanted to know, he wanted to know why it was she would feel like she didn’t deserve someone as good as that in her life.

“It’s kind of why it’s so easy to be around Steve,” he could tell by her tone that she was trying to lighten the mood. “He makes me feel less homesick.”

He didn’t even know where home was for her, he realised. He didn’t know where she was from, what her parents (both sets) did for a living. He didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up, how she came to work for Jane. There was so much he didn’t know, and half of the time he was too scared that he didn’t deserve the answer to ask. So, like the coward he was, he kept his mouth shut.

They just stood there, the pair of them leaning against the glass and watching the people they cared about most, the best people they knew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen Defendor, the Carters are a family that Arthur is close with, he worked for Paul Carter, they met after Arthur saved his then four year old sun from being hit by a car. In this Jack is obviously older, about eighteen.  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/132844042@N03/17572460584)  
> Because yes, i spent twenty minutes photoshopping Gary Gustin's hair blond. That's just how I roll. Also, let's just ignore the fact that he is wearing a superman shirt and is a character in DC. 
> 
> Fun fact: the kid who plays 9yo Jack also plays young Thor in Thor.


	7. The Demented Cupid Offensive (aka Dancing with Dinosaurs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But most importantly, if she played her cards right, and Bruce had finished working on the project she’d been chatting with him about two weeks ago, she might have the chance to set some other plans in motion.
> 
> After all, there was no better laxative for emotionally constipated super soldiers than alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it took so long to get this chapter out to you guys. I had a great chunk of it written last Thursday, but then I got some news about and friend of mine passing away and well, my head wasn't really in it. For that reason I actually ended up scrapping that first draft and starting over because I just needed to write something fun and fluffy. It shouldn't effect the rest of the story too much, it was going to be a fairly light filler chapter anyways, so hopefully it isn't too far out of left field.
> 
> So here, have silly stupid boys in love, scheming friends and more Thor. Because he is a ball of sunshine and we all need more of him in our lives.
> 
> Warnings for terrible Captain America puns and my not-so-secret obssession with awful daytime soap operas rearing it's ugly head.

Dinner dates with Thor were a regular thing. It’s not that they had a set day for them, they didn’t meet up every other Thursday at the same time. It was more they both decided at roughly the same time they were in the mood for food (they were weirdly psychically connected like that). It had started back when they were in London, a way for them to go out and explore the city together and give the brain trust a chance to have some alone time in the lab (cough, Jane’s Mom’s Basement).

Sometimes they took the others with them, mostly Eric because he wanted the chance to explore London but actually able to appreciate it properly, now that he was taking his meds which were prescribed _to help him_.

When they came back to America it became a way for them to catch up (apparently alien gods from outer space have lots to do during the week) because he was one of her closest friends and they barely got to see each other anymore.

Thor had always been so easy to get along with, radiating warmth and openness, listening intently to everything anyone had to say. She’d seen him down on his knees, nodding along seriously to a four year old girl wearing a sparkling Snow Queen Elsa dress paired with large toy Hulk gloves and a Black Widow utility belt, as she rambled a mile a minute in barely understandable English (she was missing all four of her front teeth as she had proudly shown him the second they were introduced). He genuinely cared what people had to say, whether they were four year old future warriors or twenty-five year old astrophysicist’s interns.

She didn’t have to dumb anything down for Thor, he was one of the smartest people she knew (and she worked with certified geniuses). Contrary to popular belief ( _Tony_ ) Thor was pretty quick at picking things up. He was you know, raised by legit royals. King and Queen of the universe, sort of, whatever. So if there was one thing the big guy excelled at it was adapting to foreign customs

If anything, he enjoyed how primitive and often childish Midgardians were.

Once they got their bearings in New York it became a quest to find as many “eat this obscenely large meal in under twenty minutes and it’s free!” challenges because it was a novelty to Thor that midgardians found a boisterous appetite a novelty. That and Darcy found it amusing how easily Thor can put away steaks that were bigger than her head and still want to stop for ice cream after.

Tonight Jane had been conference calling with a bunch of science bros in Europe, she and Thor had destroyed (twice over, thank you very much) the latest on their list of dive bars with eating challenges (New York was a veritable smorgasbord of them, pun intended) and were now walking back to the Tower.

Thor had finished his gelato about a block ago and was reminding her that not only is his presence soothing as hell, he was also _way_ too fucking perceptive for his own goddamn good, asking her what was wrong like a perceptively perceptive person, demigod, whatever.

“That obvious huh?” she winced, not quite meeting his eye.

He smiled softly, nudging her gently with his shoulder.

It was the first time someone has outright asked her what was wrong. She knew that Steve and Bucky wanted to, she could see the concern in each of their stupidly blue eyes. But they were also too polite to actually say anything. Sure she basically lived in their living room, but they probably didn’t consider it their place just yet. They haven’t known her that long.

Thor on the other hand had no such compunctions, even if he was just meeting her that very second, he would still ask. He was very attentive to others, trained since birth (though it did take a while – and a short banishment to another planet – to actually stick) to look out for the interests of others. Darcy figured it was mostly his mother’s work, teaching him about compassion for the people and whatever. Since she’d passed Thor had taken it upon himself to make sure that her memory would live on in that regard.

There was a brief moment when she just considered telling him the truth. The merits of letting Thor stick Mew-Mew and/or a lightning bold up Dooney’s ass were appealing. And she didn’t think that he would judge her. Any of them really, they all had their dark pasts. People like Natasha and Bucky didn’t have a choice, they were both brainwashed (Bucky quite literally, Natasha because what else do you call it when a child is raised to believe/do what they forced her to). Thor hadn’t ever really gone over to the dark side, but his brother had and, even though it hurt, he never stopped loving Loki.

Then again, in the end Loki managed to redeem himself at the cost of his own life and what the hell had Darcy done? Which was one of the main sticking points she had, because the reasons none of their troubled pasts mattered was they were doing good now, they’d pushed through all of the hurt and the bad stuff to emerge stronger, fighting for the right side. Darcy? She’d pushed through all the bad stuff alright, except she’d also buried it under a mountain of lies and fabrications. So yeah, there was a difference.

But as much as she didn’t want the judgement, she also didn’t want the pity. So lying it was.

So she started to ramble, using as many words as possible to explain how stressed work was making her. She’d never had this much grown up responsibility before. It had only ever been her and Jane and sometimes Eric, if she fucked up it was a bad grade and a few hours of extra work to fix it. Now there are people’s livelihoods and millions of dollars at stake (the more she talked the more she realised that it wasn’t entirely bullshit, she was freaking out about this sort of thing and it had taken a backseat to the other crap).

“Responsibilities can oftentimes be a terrible burden,” he nodded seriously. “But seeing the product of your own hard work is a reward without equal. You are talented and brave and capable like no other my Darcy.”

And god-fucking-damn him for making her tear up a little bit. Because there’s so much conviction, he genuinely believed what he was saying. He thought she was brave, when really she was such a coward that she couldn’t even tell him what was actually bothering her. She was so “brave” that he didn’t actually know her real name.

She sniffed, trying to cover the fact that he’d basically made her cry with her usual sarcasm, “You do realise that you sound like a fortune cookie right?”

Throwing his head back, he laughed, pulling her to his side and kissing the top of her head.

“In any case,” he smiled, letting her lighten the mood. “The Lady Hill is a fierce and determined leader, she would not hesitate to let you know were she unhappy with your efforts.”

This time she laughed with him, letting him pull her along, tucked under his arm. They kept walking in silence for another half a block, she was about to suggest they head back to the tower for a bit, maybe see if anyone wanted to watch a movie, when he spoke.

“What you need, is a night to er…” he frowned slightly, glancing down at her as he apparently thought of a way to word it that she would understand. “To chill out.”

She snorted. As great as Thor was at adapting to foreign customs, there was something so innately hilarious about listening to him try to talk like a valley girl with his deep majestic accent. He did, however, have an excellent point.

“Dancing!” she yelled, stopping dead.

“What?” he laughed, turning to look down at her.

“Dancing,” she repeated, grabbing his hand and twirling herself around.

He obliged her antics, smiling brightly as she spun like a lunatic, pulling her back in to dip her towards the ground. Winking he dipped his head forward, shaking it gently from side to side so that the ends of his hair dragged lightly across her face.

Laughing she tried to squirm away, but well, even if he wasn’t a demigod, and therefore stronger than your average bear, he was still about three times as big as her. Using one of his enormous arms to hold both of hers trapped to her body he gently tickled her sides until she had tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard.

“Uncle,” she wheezed. “Uncle, uncle!”

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t even sound out of breath. “I do not understand your strange midgardian customs. Of whose uncle to you speak?”

“You are – ah! – so full of – ok! Ok! I yield! I surrender! I pledge allegiance! Stop!”

In one swift movement she was on her feet again, his arm looped around her shoulders and pulling her along as he resumed walking.

“Ah yes,” he nodded, like nothing had happened. “Dancing. A night of merriment would be a most excellent way to relive your stress.”

“Sweet,” she didn’t so much say it as wheeze, wiping her hands under her eyes. “Tomorrow night. You, me and Boss-Lady.”

“Alas,” he sighed. “Jane and I have plans for the evening.”

Duh, right, Darcy was only the one who had tracked down tickets for them. Some sort of traditional opera (that when not broken into parts was like ten hours long) that dealt with a lot of Norse mythology.

He gave her an apologetic squeeze, “I am sure that the others would happily accompany you.”

And just like that, it slotted into place. Steve and Bucky. There were so many reasons why it was the best idea ever. She would get the opportunity to lose herself grinding up against sweaty strangers, freeing in one of the only ways she could achieve without alcohol (which, as someone who was eight years sober from not only narcotics, she didn’t drink anymore). She would get the opportunity to see Captain America grinding up against sweaty strangers, which in combination with Bucky, _yes_ (just because she didn’t see them in _that way_ because they were basically like brothers, did not mean she couldn’t objectively appreciate the fact that they were hot like _damn_ ).

But most importantly, if she played her cards right, and Bruce had finished working on the project she’d been chatting with him about two weeks ago, she might have the chance to set some other plans in motion.

After all, there was no better laxative for emotionally constipated super soldiers than alcohol.

*

Surprisingly enough, convincing Bucky and Steve to come out wasn’t actually that hard. Hell, if Sam and Natasha weren’t literally leaving for a mission the very second she got to the common floor, she would have had a whole group to party with. As it were, they were off to an undisclosed location to wreak havoc on some Hydra assholes. Which could be considered equally as fun.

Bucky was the easiest sell, keen for a night out for much the same reason as she was. Steve was more hesitant, mostly because he always hated going dancing with Bucky (because Bucky always made him try, whereas she was assuming he would be much more content to sit on the sidelines and watch his best friend) but then the second Bucky agreed she knew she had him.

What sweetened the deal was that she convinced them that it would be a perfect opportunity for them to try out one of Bruce’s new compounds, Tetraditoxin H. He’d worked his way through half of the alphabet trying to find something to help calm the Other Guy on those rare occasions that Bruce wasn’t able to. So far he’d been unsuccessful in that endeavour. But he had created this little gem that, for a period of time, would work to slow down certain parts of your metabolism. Potentially deadly for regular peeps like her, but on super soldiers it meant that for the first time since they’d been shot up with crazy serums Steve and Bucky would be able to get drunk.

The club that she’d found was one of those super on trend underground places that had only been open for about three months and in another three would have been sold, re-named and re-opened as something completely different yet exactly the same. It was almost completely pitch black inside except for a plethora of strobes and coloured lights, with plenty of dark corners, a massive sunken dancefloor that you stuck to half the time, a huge stage and screen for the DJ, three or four bars spread on multiple levels and plenty of booths and tables around the edges. The music was heavy in bass and electronic sounds, the fast-paced kind that thrummed through your entire body.

She’d had to bribe Tony to throw out some of his “influence” to get them on the list, though when the bouncer recognised Steve he barely glanced at his clipboard before letting them through.

Bucky and Clint had headed to the closest bar to get drinks whilst she and Steve found the VIP booth Tony had apparently gotten them (and it only cost her having to deal with two weeks’ worth of his paperwork, which despite his belief, wasn’t actually that hard. If anything it made her job _easier_ ).

Steve had been glancing around nervously for the entire walk through, completely oblivious to the not-so-subtle once overs he was getting from basically _everyone_ , eyes trying to find Bucky in the melee. She’d picked his outfit out for him, because whilst she trusted his fashion choices usually (the sometimes-old-timey-sometimes-very-simple-but-still-on-trend look worked for him) her plan was dependent on him looking good enough to eat.

She kept it close to what he usually wore, some jeans and a button up shirt, but the jeans were so dark they were basically black, and if they were any tighter you’d be able to see just what kind of weaponry the good Captain was packing. They made his tiny little ass look amazing, if she did say so herself. Ok, so Natasha helped her with the sizing, sending her a text with his _exact_ measurements about half a second after Darcy decided she was going shopping.

Natasha had _powers_ , crazy psychic powers that revolved around some sort of grand scheme to get Steve some. She was kind of awesome.

The shirt was rolled up to his elbows, because every American had a patriotic right to bear arms (she’d been saving the puns up all day, she was damn well going to use them), in a dark charcoal grey colour. They were lucky he probably wouldn’t get too into the dancing, whilst she had a lot of faith in the structural integrity of designer goods, the silk blend would need to be laced with vibranium to withstand the bulge of all of his muscles if he flexed wrong, or right, depending on who you asked.

“Quit fidgeting,” she slapped his hand away from where he was nervously pulling on the fabric. “You look fine.”

“It’s just so tight,” he mumbled, sulking like an actual three year old.

“Don’t even start with me,” she flashed him her _bitch please_ face. “Some of the things you wear jogging are so tight I’m pretty sure you’ve been the sole source of Mrs Hennessy’s fantasy life for the last few months.”

“ _Darcy!_ ”

“You honestly never noticed that she just happens to get her mail when you return from your run _every morning_?” she cocked her brow at him, watching him turn steadily redder. “Ninety percent of the time you sweat enough that your child-sized t-shirts are basically see through. Half of Brooklyn have probably seen your nipples.”

He’d still been making goldfish faces/sounds when the others had returned, Clint with three beers, Bucky carrying a tray of shots and an enormous colourful drink with a crazy looking fruit garnish.

“For you ma’am,” he smiled sitting it down in front of her with a flourish. “I asked for a mix of every juice and flavour syrup they had. He even put a little umbrella in it.”

It tasted like what you would get if you put every kind of jelly bean on earth into a blender with pure refined sugar. I.e. _fucking awesome_.  

“That is the stuff,” she smacked her lips over-dramatically before plucking out the fruit garnish to nibble on.

By the time she’d had two more of the virgin cocktails, switched over to diet cokes (any more sugar and her speech would become even faster and less comprehensible than it usually was) she’d watched Steve and Bucky get into a competition over who could drink the most _151_ shots in a row before the taste got to them (their metabolisms had been slowed but they still had to drink three times as much as a regular human to get drunk).

She’d danced with a bunch of random people, a couple of times with Clint but mostly with Bucky. Bucky was very into the modern dancing, watching studiously from the edges until he got the gist, before diving straight in and grinding like a pro. They’d earned a round of applause and a shout-out from the DJ after he’d started swinging her around in an impromptu lindy hop, before he’d needed a break and she finally managed to drag Steve out onto the floor.

He started shuffling awkwardly from side to side, standing about a foot away from her and glancing around at the bodies pressing in from all angles. Rolling her eyes she grabbed a handful of shoulder and plastered herself to his front, her other hand slipping onto his waist to help him move in time with her.

“Darcy,” he swallowed, speech not entirely slurred but still not fully enunciated either. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, I respect-”

“Calm down,” she smiled, glancing up from the blush staining his chest, which she had full view of – even with her crazy high heels on – thanks to the numerous buttons she’d left undone when helping him get ready. “If this was the first time I met you, sure, I’d be tapping that harder than a maple tree.”

She glanced up to wink at him, refraining from pinching his ass (even though she actually did that quite a lot now that she thought about it) because she did have something serious to say.

“We’re just dancing ok?” she waited until he met her eyes. “You saw me dancing like this with Bucky and Clint and a bunch of people I’ve never met before.

‘You’re one of my best friends. You and Thor and Bucky are like the three muscly older brothers I never asked for. Now, I want you to be able to dance and have fun tonight, and no one is going to dance any further away from you than this. So I figure, you’ll be more comfortable doing this with me than with some random. At least to start off with.”

He nodded, smiling as he shoved her gently, and she didn’t resist the urge to pinch his ass this time, making him blush again (poor guy really couldn’t help it) before getting back into dancing. He was focusing really hard, brows pinching slightly as he stared down trying to match her movements. She kept them simple and slow, little more than rocking her hips from side to side, keeping one hand held to his waist so she could direct his movements.

She waited until he found a rhythm, shifting his own grip on her waist and beginning to lead, before she spoke.

It really wasn’t the venue for conversation, the music was loud enough that she could feel it in her ribcage, but she was stubborn enough to try it any way, leaning up on her toes to yell in Steve’s ear. She had a game plan, a very well thought out and highly intricate game plan, but first she needed to 100% confirm a few things.

So she started asking him about his love life.

“You’re worse than Natasha,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “She’s always trying to set me up with random women.”

He was still dancing, loose limbed and warm to the touch. The flush on his cheeks was permanent, and not from blushing, just the warm glow of someone who’d had enough to drink that they might be open to the conversation she was about to have.

“Is it the setting up you have a problem with,” she began carefully, trying to keep her tone even but finding it hard to do when she was basically yelling at him. “Or that it’s only with women?”

It took a second for the words to process, brows pinching in confusion before shooting up in panic. He stopped dancing altogether, until her insistent pushing against his hip (with the hand on his waist, thank you very much) got him moving again.

“Now I know we covered equal opportunities for same sex couples in our welcome to the future booklets,” she stared at him until he once again met her eyes. “And you should know that none of us are going to judge you if you come out as gay, straight or any combination thereof.”

“I know that it’s not illegal anymore,” he sighed. “And it’s not perfect, but it is more accepted than it was. It’s just hard to ignore what you grew up knowing. I saw a couple of kids holding hands on the subway, two girls they couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and I wanted to tell them to run, that there was a police officer in the car behind them.”

“Did that sort of thing happen a lot?” she was actually having a conversation with him about period-typical homophobia in the middle of a club. Jesus, the things you did for love.

“I don’t know if you know a lot about the area I grew up in. It was near the navy yard and there were clubs where fellas could go if they were… you know, looking for…”

“Don’t hurt yourself there Steve,” she rolled her eyes, finding herself (like she often did) charmed by the fact that even though this was the twenty-first century Sarah Rogers raised a gentleman. “I know all about illicit gay bars and drag clubs.”

He nodded, curving over her so that their faces were closer, making it easier for him to be heard.

“Everyone knew it happened, but everyone just sort of turned a blind eye. If it didn’t concern them they stayed out of it. But every now and then, the cops would have raids and people would get hurt. I’ve seen someone beaten to death by a group of men I went to school with. Nobody ever said anything, but when someone got outed, they didn’t last long. It was always hard knowing who to trust with that sort of thing.”

She couldn’t see what he was looking at over her the top of her head (literally, over her head, he was like twenty feet taller than her) but given that it was in the general direction of their booth and she was pretty sure he wasn’t secretly pining after and worrying about what the security guard near their booth would think, she could guess.

“Trust me Steve,” she squeezed his shoulder. “ _No one_ will love you any less for just being who you are.”

In fact, certain people might just love him more.

He nodded, but she could read it in his eyes that he didn’t entirely believe her. There was a reason he was a soldier and not a spy, his baby blues gave a lot away. It was a miracle that no-one else had cottoned on to just how far gone he was on Bucky before now. Especially Bucky.

But she didn’t want to out either of their feelings to the other, because whilst they were obvious to her, Captain Oblivious and the Ignorant Soldier seemed completely unaware of the fact that hey, their best friend was just as in love with them as they were.

Time for Phase 2.

They fell back into silence, Darcy happy to let Steve keep them moving now that he’d gotten into the swing of things as she scanned their surrounds. She spotted him about two feet away, tall, lean with what was either brown or black hair (the lights made it hard to tell), and a friendly smile. Not that it was directed at her, the hot guy had been unabashedly checking out Steve’s ass for the few minutes she observed him, completely uninterested in the shorter dude who was trying to dance with him.

She turned them around so that her back was to Hot Guy, before slipping out of Steve’s hold, stepping behind him and giving him a not so gentle shove. There was no way in hell she could get away with it if Steve wasn’t drunk, his reflexes were way too good, he was way too big and way too strong. But right now she was more than happy to pretend it had nothing to do with his inebriation, and everything to do with how awesome a secret agent she totally was.

As she weaved her way through the writhing bodies she threw a glance over her shoulder, giving herself a mental high five when she noticed that they were dancing, albeit awkwardly, but she’d take it. When she got back to the table Clint was sitting by himself, with Bucky nowhere to be seen.

Though she did need him to witness this, it would work in their favour if it wasn’t right away. He a) wouldn’t have seen Darcy shoving the pair together and pulling a Road Runner out of there, meaning he might assume that this was something Steve had done on his own; and b) it gave Steve a second to loosen back up so that he didn’t look like a dead fish someone kept shooting an electric current through sporadically.

_Phase 2 underway._

“Where’s Steve?” Clint asked, sliding a fresh diet coke over to her as she sat down.

“He’s learning to accept himself,” she smirked before taking a sip.

The look he threw at her was two parts confused and one part freaked out but she ignored it, drinking most of her glass because dancing was hard work (and so was sparking the flames of romance apparently) and she was thirsty. He looked like he was about to ask her what she meant, though he hadn’t glanced over to the dancefloor to see for himself, so a change of subject was definitely in order.

“You’re not taking advantage of me being the designated sober person,” she nodded to his beer, which was only two thirds gone even though it was only his third and he’d been cradling it for the last forty five minutes.

“And miss an opportunity to see Captain Ameirca hammered?” he smirked, taking a sip none the less.

She had to agree with that reasoning. Aside from their brief foray into serious discussions revolving around sexual orientation, Steve had been getting steadily more tipsy (thanks to the enormous tab Tony had paid for, on the condition they got at least one video of Steve doing something embarrassing) as the night wore on.

There was a brief flash of panic when the man himself came back over to the booth, face slightly flushed and breathing a little heavier than normal. She glanced around quickly, noting that she could just make out the gleam of Bucky’s metal arm reaching the front of the queue to the bar. Hot Guy (who was probably doomed to be referred to as that forever) was hovering back by the edge of the dancefloor, shooting glances at Steve but maintaining his distance from their table.

Steve himself seemed perfectly happy not to say anything, just downed a couple of shots before chasing it with a sip of beer and smiling shyly at Darcy. At her encouraging nod, he headed back over to Hot Guy, the pair of them resuming their dancing as Bucky arrived at the booth.

“Where’s Steve?” Bucky asked loudly, the kind that was a little too loud even over the thrum of music.

Darcy and Clint just pointed over to where Steve was getting the hang of modern dancing, still a little too stiff and awkward but at least moving in time with his partner. As the three of them watched he tipped his head back and laughed, hand coming up to clutch his partner’s shoulder as if he needed the help to stay steady.

Bucky’s face was a mix of emotions, his control lessened by the alcohol flooding his system as he tried to decide what he wanted to feel. She could see excitement and a little bit of surprised joy, pleasantly shocked that Steve was actually out there, dancing, with another human being. The fact that it was _another_ human being was what she thought was causing the green eyed monster to show through his usually grey-blue gaze. That it was another man threw the entire mix into a sea of confusion and what looked like Bucky questioning his entire life.

Hot guy leaned in, not once stilling the movement of his hips as they moved against Steve’s, to whisper something in his ear. Even across the room as they were, with the weirdly pulsing lights, she could make out the way a blush bloomed dark across Steve’s cheeks, his eyes dropping as he smiled shyly.

The growl nearly made her jump, deep and rumbling and nearly animal, emanating from the scowling brunette next to her. He was frowning, gaze unwavering where it was stuck to Steve, and nodding slightly to himself. She had to fight very hard to contain herself from throwing a victorious fist in the air when his mental pep talk seemed to work, getting out of his seat and striding across the room with purpose.

Apparently she wasn’t as good at masking her expression, turning to find Clint staring at her with a shrewd and calculative gaze. She coughed, hastening to arrange her face into something much more cavalier as she drank her drink and subtly watched out of the corner of her eye as Bucky “cut in” on Steve and Hot Guy dancing.

Because she was a grade A Badass and Phase 2 was working like a fucking _dream_.

*

Several hours later, they were slowly making their way outside.

She’d stayed at the booth with Clint falling back onto one of her greatest talents and talking his ear off to distract him from looking too closely at what she’d orchestrated. He’d happily let her ramble about the various things Tony had done to piss her off that week, and managed not to laugh at her trying to explain Jane’s work, politely not pushing it when she got evasive about answering questions regarding her family. 

It wasn’t until after listening to some of the flat out ridiculous shit he and Natasha used to do on missions, several stories about his dog who was either called Lucky or Pizza Dog (she wasn’t entirely sure), that she realised how late it was, they should probably be headed home, and she’d had _no clue where Steve and Bucky had wandered off to_. She was the worst designated sober person ever.

They’d managed to find them in a dark corner beside the stage where the DJ was set up, aggressively making out like a pair of teenagers. After convincing them they could just as easily make out at home (even if internally she was victory dancing like a boss) she managed to pull them mostly apart, leading them over to the coat check where Clint was patiently waiting, eyes widening slightly at the way the two super soldiers were distinctly rumpled looking.

They were absolutely wasted, Steve more so than Bucky, the pair of them weaving slightly as they walked. Clint had taken over helping Steve, valiantly man-handling all two hundred pounds of alcohol soaked apple pie towards the street to hail a cab. Darcy was trailing behind them, Bucky draped over her shoulder and watching Clint laugh his ass off as Steve began singing an altered version of “The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan” the Commandoes had created. Loudly and very off-key.

“Been in love w’that idiot since I’was seven,” Bucky mumbled it into her ear, eyes still fixed on Steve who was now trying to show Clint how to throw a proper “stage punch”.

Her smile faltered, when she turned to look at him, an absolutely heartbreaking expression on his face.

“Don’t deserve ‘im,” he said it like it was irrefutable. “Done s’much bad shit.”

He was slurring and barely standing and heavier than he looked but she pulled him to a stop anyway, spinning him around and holding him steady until he’d (basically) stopped swaying and was looking her in the eye.

“If he heard you talking about his best friend like that he would punch you in the face,” she kept going, steamrolling right over whatever protest he was about to make. “You listen to me James Buchanan Barnes. I am not saying I agree with you, because I really don’t, but while you may think that you don’t deserve to be happy, what about him?”

He frowned down at her in confusion.

“Doesn’t he deserve to be happy?”

He nodded immediately, not even pausing to think about it for a second. She knew it was because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Steve deserved to be happy.

“Well, all he needs to be happy is you,” she reached up to rest her hand on the side of his face making sure he could see how serious she was.

He hung his head slightly, nodding. She knew it wasn’t this easy, that he was still drunk and would have fought her over this for much longer if he were sober. But that was ok, she would have this argument with him every day for the rest of their lives if it meant he actually gave this a go. Because it was true, whilst he might not believe it just yet, there was no one who deserved to be happy the way he did, the way they both did. And if there was anything she could do to ensure it, she was fucking going to.

She hugged him, not quite staggering under his weight as he sank into it, hugging her back tighter than was necessary. His metal arm was pressing hard into her back which was bowing slightly under him, but she didn’t care, squeezing back just as tightly.

Eventually they started walking again, Bucky still hanging off of her side, his arm draped around her shoulders and hers wrapped around his waist.

“And for the record,” she gave him a small squeeze. “You do deserve to be happy. One of these days you’ll start to believe it. I’m not going to stop trying to show you that until you do.”

Clint was waiting for them up ahead, Steve practically hanging off of his shoulder and a cab pulled up to the curb. Between the three of them they managed to pour Steve into the back seat (though Bucky was more a hindrance than a help) apologising profusely to the driver as Steve once again began singing “The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan”.

By the time Bucky had climbed in after him, with Darcy following and Clint in the front seat (there was no way he’d fit in the back with Steve and Bucky, hell, Darcy barely fit) he’d moved on to one of the Ke$ha songs they’d heard inside, giggling like mad. Lucky for them their cabbie was a cheerful guy, laughing whenever Steve got the words wrong and then turning the radio up at Steve’s request when “Flawless” by Beyoncé had come on.

Darcy spent the entire ride after that squished against the door as Steve and Bucky giggled and whispered filthy things into each other’s ears (not _nearly_ as quietly as they thought, her Clint and the driver were red in the face from trying not to laugh).

By the time they’d paid and managed to get upstairs to the apartment Bucky and Steve headed straight to Bucky’s room without a backwards glance, shutting the door firmly behind them. Because she hadn’t submitted herself to enough embarrassment that night, she grabbed them each a bottle of water from the fridge, opening the door and blindly throwing them inside hoping desperately not to be scarred for life. She slammed it shut behind her, taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and compose herself before returning to the living room.

Clint was where she left him, leaning against the back of the couch and looking at Steve’s drawings that were pinned to the wall with poster putty (she was thinking about having them framed as a sort of “thanks for letting me crash at your place” present).

“Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t get wasted tonight,” she smiled leaning next to him. “There’s no way in hell I would have gotten them home on my own.”

She’s staring at the drawings too, two charcoal sketches of the Brooklyn skyline. There’s one of Steve and Bucky’s Brooklyn, drawn from memory, and the other was the current Brooklyn filled with modern structures.

“That’s not why I did it,” his voice was quiet next to her.

It took her a second, her brain was still fixating on what kind of frames she’d use and if she could get Pepper to recommend someone to do it, but she blinked and turned to face him. He was leaning a lot closer than he was a second ago, face barely a few inches from hers.

“It’s not?” she asked stupidly, after staring at his eyes for way too long to be polite.

They were enormous, like great big blue tadpole eyes. And she should know, her eyes weren’t exactly tiny. Their colour was so crystal clear, sharp dark edges to the blue-green irises, she could even make out each little striation, the tiny little flecks of gold throughout.

“I wanted to try this again.”

He leaned forward slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away if this was something she didn’t want. The kiss was slow and achingly gentle, nothing like the way he’d kissed her at Stark’s launch. It started off mostly chaste, their lips slotted together softly, both of his hands were framing her face, each of his fingers pressing gently but firmly along her hairline.

He kissed her slowly and so incredibly thoroughly, when their lips parted and their tongues finally met it seemed like Clint was willing to spend however long it took to explore every inch of her. Carefully finding out what made her sigh and gasp and then repeating it until she was basically a mess of hormones draped across the back of Steve and Bucky’s couch.

Darcy wasn’t actually used to this, she couldn’t remember being kissed like this in her life. She couldn’t actually remember more than a handful of situations where kissing someone didn’t lead directly into the horizontal tango. She’d had maybe one boyfriend in college, and even then it was more a steady lay than anything else. Her relationship with sex had never been healthy.

Even after she was no longer doing it for money, she wasn’t exactly doing it for the right reasons. The first few months she refused to let anyone touch her, not friends, not the Carters. The one and only time Wendy had tried to give her a hug Darcy had flinched so badly she pulled away, the concern and sympathy adorning the older woman’s face enough that Darcy ended up running from the house. It was several hours before she came home, expecting to be kicked right back out. Thankfully Wendy didn’t say anything and neither did Darcy.

The only person she’d let anywhere near her was Jack, purely because he was ten. When he snuggled against her on the couch it wasn’t for any other reason than it was warm and comfortable. When he hugged her it was because he was a kid and was excited to see her and it was the only way he knew how to express it. Jack had always been her safe place, so much like Arthur. It never felt like it had anything to do with her, it was all about him. It made him happy and that’s all that she cared about.

After a semester at Culver she hadn’t made many friends. There were people who would talk to her in class, and work with her on group projects, but her jumpy and snappish behaviour hadn’t led to any close friendships. She couldn’t actually tell you what did it, what made her snap, but she’d reverted to her old mindset. That _this_ was the only thing she was good at, _this_ was all she was worth. Just a body to be used.

She didn’t keep count, but after a year of sleeping with basically everyone she came across, she had a lot more “friends”. She got invited to parties where she couldn’t drink or smoke weed that everyone was passing around. Where eventually the only thing that could make her feel better, feel alive in the way that booze and drugs could, was fucking some random in a frat house bathroom.

The only saving grace of that downward spiral was that she never actually caved and just drank the beer she was offered, or took one hit of the joint people were passing around.

She never got the name of the girl who had found her in the bathroom, freaking the fuck out because she was _late_ and an idiot and so fucking screwed. She remembered she was tiny, with honey blonde hair and the kind of brown eyes that could see directly through any kind of bullshit. She’d sat there and held Darcy’s hand while she waited to find out if she’d fucked up the one chance the universe had given her with her own self-loathing.  

In the end she wasn’t pregnant, though the scare was enough for her to accept the number the girl had written down on a scrap of paper, actually going to see one of the free counsellors Culver had on offer.

Since then she’d mostly kept to herself, no longer viewing sex and her body as the only thing she had to offer but as something she had a right to choose. She wasn’t celibate, but she didn’t exactly date. She said no to people when she didn’t want that, and the occasions when she did say yes it became more about both of them finding pleasure, not just her making sure she got them off so she could feel like she was capable of _something._

In London, with Ian, it had been a spur of the moment “we’re not dead, the world hasn’t ended, let’s orgasm” type of situation. She genuinely liked the guy, even if he was a little irritating at times, and he accepted her reasoning when she told him it probably wouldn’t go anywhere.

But this thing with Clint had been different from the start. Yeah, he’d sort of gone about letting her know, _hey I like you_ , the wrong way. Since then however he’d seemed genuinely more interested in becoming her friend than anything else, basically telling her that if this didn’t actually work out he would still want to be friends afterwards.

By the time they pulled apart she was panting slightly, most of her brains felt like they were pouring from her ears and her knees were weak. He pressed his lips softly against hers once more before pulling back fully, brushing her hair behind her ears gently.

“And this time,” he smiled, eyes jumping between hers. “I didn’t want there to be any confusion about my motives. It had nothing to do with me being drunk, and everything to do with how awesome you are.”

It was so sincere and ridiculously adorable that all she could actually think to say was, “Oh.”

His laugh was quiet and not mocking, eyes gleaming as he smiled down at her.

“Who’d of thunk it,” he smirked. “All it took to make you speechless was a little smooching.”

“Don’t get cocky bird brain,” but she was still smiling back at him.

“Your insults lack their usual punch.”

“Shut up,” and because she didn’t trust him to actually keep his mouth shut, she decided the best way was to occupy it.

And this time the kiss was anything but delicate.

*

Clint kind of loved Steve and Bucky’s coffee machine more than his own. It felt like a betrayal, his coffee machine had seen him through a lot, and Steve and Bucky’s was ancient and kind of ugly, but it was enormous and so easy to use and something about it made the coffee taste so fucking strong he thought he could subsist on little else.

He was trying not to look smug as he and Darcy sat at the kitchen counter silently drinking coffee. But he was very pleased with how last night went. It was stupid and kind of sappy because it was not like they even had sex or anything. Not that he needed that from her, because he could literally do nothing but occasionally kiss Darcy for the rest of his life and he’d be totally happy. He was so far fucking gone on that girl it was ridiculous.

The voice in his head that sounded like a weird combination of Natasha and Kate was telling him to woman the fuck up and just tell her how he felt. But he didn’t want to rush this. There was something about her that told him if he pushed too far too fast with Darcy she’d freeze right up. He was cool to just take it slow, get to know her better, let her get to know him, and eventually in the future have lots of sex and babies. Because he was completely, stupidly gone on this girl, as previously mentioned.

By the time Bucky came stumbling into the kitchen wearing boxers and tying his dressing gown shut they’d already worked their way through half of the jumbo coffee pot. Bucky took one look at the pair of them, sitting shoulder to shoulder at the breakfast bar and smiling over their mugs, and his face went from sleepy confused to a frankly terrifying murder glare focused solely on Clint in rapid succession.

“Easy brother bear,” Darcy spoke from beside him, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. “He stayed on the couch and I slept in Steve’s room.”

There was a pause where Clint could see the tension slip from his shoulders and he managed to breathe again, not entirely sure when he’d stopped.

“Also,” Darcy continued her tone a little shaper but still teasing. “I am a grown woman, if I want to have sex with someone I can.”

“Not under my goddamn roof you’re not,” he grumbled, glaring at Darcy instead of Clint as he stepped around them to fix himself a mug of coffee.

“Not what?”

Steve was standing in the doorway rubbing his hair tiredly and looking around at all of them, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was only wearing a pair of sweats (that definitely weren’t his if the way most of his ankle was showing – even with how low they were slung on his hips – was anything to judge by) which meant that they all had a perfect view of his naked torso.

His naked torso that was _covered_ in so many hickies and bite marks it almost looked like he’d been painted in camouflage, if he was attempting to hide in a jungle made up of purples, blacks, blues and reds, with lighter yellows and greens from where his super-healing was already causing them to fade. Clint could actually make out what looked like dark hand prints on his hips, one side slightly deeper than the other.

He couldn’t even find the brain power to be embarrassed seeing Steve like this, he was literally so fucking impressed with the extent of Barnes’ work. He didn’t know how long they’d been going at it last night, after making out with Darcy on the couch for a while they’d eventually broken apart laughing at the numerous moans and cries coming from behind the closed door.

Darcy had put on a movie, cranking up the volume to try and drown it out. When she’d fallen asleep halfway through Clint had carried her through to what he assumed was Steve’s room (if the stack of sketch books beside his bed were anything to go by) hoping that having two sets of walls between her and them would drown out the majority of the noise.

He’d gone back to the couch, using the blankets and pillows piled next to it (clearly Darcy’s if the light floral smell clinging to the fabric was any indication) and hoping there wouldn’t be any overnight emergencies as he pulled out his hearing aids easily falling to sleep with the new found quiet. Super soldier stamina indeed.

“Engaging in the crazy lovemaking you two did last night,” Darcy was the one to break the silence, eyes dancing with mischief as she pointedly looked Steve up and down.

Steve full-body blushed, Clint could see it glowing red all the way down to the hem of his sweatpants, visible in the small portions of skin that weren’t already coloured. But he kept looking Darcy in the eye, not cringing or deflecting or trying to deny it. There was something almost defiant in the way he stared back at her.

Barnes looked like a not-so-small part of him was kind of expecting it. Like he thought Steve would shrug and laugh it off as being some kind of drunken mistake. He startled slightly when Steve stepped closer, linking their hands together and jutting his chin out at Darcy like he was daring her to make something out of it. Instead she raised her mug in a salute.

“Mazeltov,” she was smiling, but her tone became softer and more serious. “You both deserve it.”

Steve smiled gratefully, lighting up his whole face. He let go of Bucky’s hand to accept the mug of coffee she offered him, casually resting his other hand against Bucky’s shoulder for a brief second before heading over to the couch and switching on the news.

Bucky stayed where he was, eyes fixed on his fingers as they fidgeted with his own mug. Darcy sidled up to him speaking low enough that Clint couldn’t make out what she was saying. He watched Bucky’s brows pull down into a frown before Darcy lent back to fix him with an _I-am-not-taking-one-single-iota-of-your-shit-James-Buchanan-Barnes_ glare until he actually seemed to whither. His head dropped back down and nodded before (after a brief moment’s hesitation) he picked up his coffee and went to curl up next to Steve on the couch.

Clint turned back to look at Darcy, brought up short by the way she was watching the pair of them, every single bit of her practically radiating triumph. All of a sudden a _lot_ of things clicked into place.

“You planned this!” he hissed at her, mindful to keep his voice incredibly quiet so as to not be audible to the enhanced ears in the living room.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” her face was the picture of innocence as she took a sip of coffee, but she was whispering too.

“ _This_ ,” he gestured vaguely in a way that hopefully indicated the entire situation. “Going out last night and getting them hammered! It was all some sort of master scheme to get them to admit their feelings or some shit. Like some demented cupid.”

Her smirk was the kind that if he saw it on Natasha he’d fear for the freedom of the world, Darcy hopefully lacked the same kind of contacts to become Earth’s sole ruler. _Hopefully_.

“I’m not the one with the bow and arrow cupcake.”

He was still gaping like a goldfish, not even reacting to the nickname or the way she slapped him on the ass on her way past. She slipped into the smaller loveseat adjacent to the couch Steve and Bucky were on, ignoring Steve’s protests as she stole the remote, switching from the news to Sunday morning cartoons.

She may be lacking the resources and connections to pull it off, but he didn’t doubt for a second that if she had them, and she put her mind to it, they would all be bowing down to Supreme Overlord Darcy Lewis. She was just that fucking devious.

*

It’s one of the best Sunday’s she’d had in a while, the four of them spread out on the couches with Darcy introducing them to the crazed Canadian masterpiece that was _The Amazing World of Gumball._ Later in the afternoon they get a call from Natasha. They were planning on celebrating hers and Sam’s successful obliteration of a Hydra base and subsequent return the only way the Avenger’s know how: pizza and movies.

When they got to the Tower, Bucky headed up to Bruce’s lab to talk to him about the Tetraditoxin H, whilst the rest of them went straight up to the common floor.

It took all of about three seconds after they entered the room for Tony to stop talking when he laid eyes on Steve. The three of them froze, Steve raising his eyebrows at Tony, the universal sign for “Can I help you with something?”

“There’s something different about you,” Tony pulled his sunglasses down to give Steve a thorough once over. “You’ve got this glow about you. Almost like you had s-”

When he broke off suddenly his eyes were practically bugging out of his head and moving rapidly and purposefully between Steve and…her.

It took her a fraction of a second to click. Because what else would Tony assume? She had been staying with them, she was the one who got them to go out last night, who got Steve drunk, and well, she wasn’t trying to sound arrogant in any way, but she did have that whole pin-up girl thing going for her that someone like Tony would assume Steve was into.

Steve took a little bit longer, started to stutter and protest but couldn’t actually articulate anything. Darcy, seeing the opportunity to mess with Tony, decided then and there that she was going to roll with it.

“Well,” she winced. “I guess that’s a thing that’s not secret anymore.”

She did her best to keep her expression sheepish, not meeting anyone’s eyes though she figured most of them would realise she was making this up as she went along.

Steve had opened his mouth to protest inarticulately some more, flashing Darcy with a semi-confused look of betrayal.

“No Steve,” she sighed, holding her hand out to him. “It’s ok, we knew this day was coming.”

She stared at Tony, who was still staring at the pair of them like Christmas had come early.

“I tried so hard to resist!” she cried out, not too loudly, but loudly enough to be shocking. “But who could? Who could fight the draw of that chiselled jaw?”

Spinning to face Steve, expression anguished, she grabbed a couple of handfuls of the front of his shirt and pulled. She was only able to drag his face closer because he was literally so lost by what was happening right now.

“We were fools Steve, fools to think we could hide this forever,” she buried her face in his shoulder letting out a dramatic sob.

Yes, it was stupid, and childish and fooling no one (but hopefully confusing the hell out of Tony. But she hadn’t been sleeping and the only thing on TV in the middle of the night that had subtitles were Spanish soap operas from the eighties and well, she’d been watching a butt tonne of them.

Whilst she was busy sobbing on Steve she could see Bruce and Bucky exiting the elevator. At their confused looks she gave them a wink, before pulling back to clutch at Steve’s face.

“What mortal could resist?” she was still basically yelling, struggling not to laugh at the completely lost expression Steve was wearing. “What super soldier could fight the pull of a love like ours?”

And well, where the hell else was this going if not there? She planted one on him, big and dramatic and almost too rough. He merely squawked in an undignified sort of way, holding his hands up and away in a “look, I’m not touching her, see how I’m not touching her?” sort of way.

And because there was a reason he was one of her favourite people on the goddamned planet, Bucky took all of a second to figure out what had happened and jumped right in like a champ.

“Darcy!” he yelled. “I thought ours was a passion that couldn’t be denied!”

She pulled away from Steve abruptly, causing him to nearly lose his balance.

“James!” she gasped.

“There is no greater treachery,” there was a reason he was a world renowned spy (back when he was with the Russians at least, before Hydra turned him into nothing more than a gun to point) he was a fucking fabulous actor. “The woman I yearn for with the heat of a thousand suns, in the arms of the man I consider my kin.”

She fucking knew he’d been reading the stupid harlequin romances stacked on the book shelves. “Oh no, Natasha just got them for Stevie as a joke.” Ha! Bullshit.

“No torture concocted could ever compare to the pain of such a betrayal,” he clutched a hand to his chest, head turned so that his hair fell across his face in a dark curtain.

Steve still looked like he’d missed a couple of steps coming down the stairs and Bruce was frowning at the lot of them like he was “getting too old for this shit”. From what she could see of Tony he was watching the entire scene unfold with rapt attention and she was willing to bet the barely controlled snickering coming from behind her belonged to one Sam Wilson.

And because Darcy never did things by halves, they’d reached _Ride or Die_ status. A brief look shared with Bucky and she knew she could count on him to bring his A game.

“James please,” she stepped towards him, pretending to falter when he flinched away from her. “It meant nothing, I swear! I do love you.”

“How can I trust that?” he whirled back around to face her. “How can I trust anything you say? What about our unborn child? Is that even my son you carry in your womb, or is it the offspring of the Adonis before you?”

Fuck. Yes. Bucky was her all-time favourite. Of all time.

“I lied!” she was practically yelling now, throwing her arms about as she gesticulated wildly. “James, I lied about being pregnant! It was the only way your Stepmother would let us be wed. She saw right through my ploy to marry you for your family’s fortune. So I blackmailed Dr Steele into forging a positive test. A man with a wife and two children should know better than to mess around with showgirls.”

She had no idea where the fuck all of this plot was coming from, she was trying so hard not to laugh she was pretty sure her brain was being deprived of oxygen.

“Well I lied too!” Bucky yelled back, only a quick sideways glance to Steve betraying his intentions. “I was only using you to hide my true identity from my family, so they could never find out who I’ve loved all along! But I guess the jig is up. I will not hide it anymore!”

And with that he marched straight up to Steve, giving him a smile that was one part I’m-sorry-for-this and about three parts I-love-you-so-fucking-much-and-now-you’re-stuck-with-me-you-moron, before grabbing him around the shoulders, dipping him almost to the floor, and kissing the shit out of him.

There was dead silence as Bucky and Steve (who, unlike with Darcy was not resisting the kiss in the _slightest_ ) make out for a bit.

She’d say everyone was staring, but it was mostly just Tony.

Clint looked like he had his entire fist shoved into his mouth to try and stop himself from laughing. Bruce was politely averting his gaze but smiling to himself. Pepper was rolling her eyes at Tony, who was doing his best goldfish impression, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Sam had stopped snickering, but he was grinning like a lunatic, hand outstretched to Natasha who was smiling even as she handed over a crisp $50 note.

Because yeah, Spanish soap opera antics aside, Darcy wasn’t the only one who saw this fucking coming.

The pair broke apart and straightened up, Steve smiling down at Bucky like he was the best and worst thing to ever happen to him. Bucky’s reached up and gently smoothed Steve’s hair back into place, brushing his hands over his shoulders and fixing his shirt before spinning to face the rest of the room like absolutely nothing had happened.

“So where’s this mountain of pizza we’ve been promised?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out to you a bit quicker, I'm working a lot over the next couple of days but I'll see how it goes. This is the last fully fluffy chapter for a while, obviously there will still be fluff and humour and whatever but we've now officially made it to the halfway mark and it's all down hill from here.
> 
> Thanks as always if you've left kudos or taken the time to write me a comment, it really does motivate me. I'm not trying to sound like one of those authors telling you to do so or I wont write more because that would be lame and kind of a dick move, but I do want you guys to know it means a lot getting them throughout my week. So yeah, thanks.
> 
> I didn't get a chance to read this through as obsessively as I usually do so sorry for any mistakes. Feel free to point them out.


	8. There's No Way Out, the Only Way Out is to Give In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I swear to God Darcy Lewis, if you sit there and tell me that you’re fine when Bruce says he keeps seeing you sneak up to the roof to chain smoke I will slap the stupid right off of your face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCKING SHIT YOU GUYS. Like sweet baby jesus riding a unicycle you are the single most glorious fucking creatures on the planet. Thank you so very very very much for all of your comments on the last chapter. Shit. I can't actually handle it. Seriously. I uploaded the chapter just as I was leaving for work and by the end of my shift my inbox was basically inundated with comments. Holy crap.
> 
> This one isn't as long, unfortunately. But we're getting to the nitty gritty, the cracks are starting to show.
> 
> Title from the song Empty by Metric.

“Can’t you just sign it for me? Don’t you have a stamp for that? I swear Pepper had a stamp.”

Darcy was once again, rolling her eyes. She wondered how many muscles it took to roll your eyes. Hers were probably jacked to shit, something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, from doing it so much. Maybe if she rolled them hard enough she would have a prime view of her brain cells dying.

She was in Tony’s workshop, keeping a safe distance (sparks flew whenever he was working, and not the metaphorical kind, the singing burning kind) from whatever unidentifiable hunk of mechanics he could either be assembling or dismantling (with Tony t was hard to tell sometimes) trying to get him to put down the blow-torch and sign the multiple documents she had on the tablet clutched to her chest.

It was the end of the day. It was _past_ the end of the day. It was almost dark outside and all she wanted to do was go home and make Bucky cook for her, maybe call Jack and see if he and Max wanted to come over and veg out watching Netflix (which she’d finally hooked Steve and Bucky up with) for a few hours. Which she would be able to do if Tony stark could take five seconds away from whatever he’s playing with right now.

“Everyone down to the custodial staff had a stamp,” she sighed, struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice. “That is why I also need a thumbprint.”

She was tired. Hell, she was fucking exhausted, pretty sure the longest she’d managed to sleep uninterrupted over the last few weeks was about two hours. Whatever calm going out last weekend had brought was long gone after a hard three days. It was only Wednesday. When she’d gone to lunch with Jack yesterday she’d nearly passed out in her miso soup. She was starting to question how long she could keep this up and Tony Stark acting like a petulant five-year-old was _not fucking helping_.

Her foot was tapping impatiently, a soft _clack_ every time the toes of her fancy shoes hit the glass floor. Tony hadn’t even looked at her since she’d entered. Not that she was much to look at presently. Steve and Bucky were both early risers, so she always had to start getting ready before they got up so that she could pretend she just woke earlier than they did, as compared to not actually going to sleep the majority of the time. Usually an early start would mean more time to get ready but there was one bathroom and three people and since she usually ended up showering first she didn’t want to be the asshole who used all of the hot water, especially because she was technically a guest.

The fact that about sixty percent of the time Steve and Bucky were sharing a shower did not mean it took less time. If anything, it got longer. They had almost never ending stamina and seventy plus years to make up for. Darcy had taken to waring her headphones to bed and listening to her iPod. The soundproofing in their apartment left a lot to be desired.

So she was clean but not as made up as usual, forgoing her trademark lipstick, never bothering with contacts, and generally letting her hair do whatever the hell it wanted by the time it was dry. Her clothes were less outlandish, mostly a combination of pretty boring skirt and blouse combos, occasionally one of her dresses because it was easier.

Right now her hair was twisted into a knot on the top of her head, held in place by a pencil. It had been pissing her off for most of the morning and she couldn’t find a hair-tie. She had her coat on and her purse slung over her shoulder, getting Tony’s signature the last thing she had to do before she could go home.

“How long are your arms?”

He was finally looking at her, black safety goggles perched on the top of his head, his eyes scrutinising the aforementioned limbs where they were folded across her chest, and apparently finding the entire reason she was there in the first place _completely beneath his notice_.

She fixed him with a look over the top of her glasses, something he’d once referred to as her stern librarian glare (one that he’d professed to find a confusing combination of terrifying and hot as hell) hoping that today of all days was the one where she suddenly became capable of burning a human being to a crisp with only the power of her glare.

“Come here,” he beckoned with two of his fingers, eyes flitting back to the mess of gears and wired and bits of metal in front of him.

“Isn’t that what you have ‘bots for?” she hadn’t moved from her spot.

Tony shot a look over to the far corner where Dum-E was (failing at) cleaning up from trying (yet again) to make one of Tony’s smoothies without putting the lid on the blender. There was green liquid sprayed everywhere within a six foot radius, Dum-E’s arm was extended as far is it could reach, a grease covered rag gripped in his claw as he tried to mop it up.

Nodding to concede his point Darcy dumped her bag and tablet onto the nearest clean work table, slipping out of her coat and hanging it from the Mark 53, before walking over to Tony. She figured the sooner she got this over with the sooner he’ll sign and she can go. She knows she’s coming apart at the seams, but she was stubborn enough to keep on pretending that everything was just dandy.

It took some manoeuvring to get her where she was needed, up to her arm pits in mechanics and holding something tiny and fiddly as Tony screwed it into place. There were gears and wires poking her uncomfortably and she was pretty sure she was going to have grease stains all over her shirt. Good thing it wasn’t one of her favourites.

One of the best things about Tony when he worked was that he didn’t speak, unless it was to explain what he was doing or to give her instructions (and even then he usually just moved her hands the way he wanted them). So there’s a blissful couple of minutes where the only sound was the very soft grinding of metal and the easy to tune out technobabble that was oddly soothing. She let her eyes slip shut, happy to have a second to just breathe.

The snapped back open when her phone began to ring, darting over to where her purse was open on the bench.

“No, hold still,” Tony actually grabbed her hands when she automatically went to let go and answer her cell. “Do you have any idea how sensitive the circuitry on-”

“No, I don’t,” she deadpanned cutting him off before he could get too into describing something she neither knew nor had any interest in learning about right now.

“Ugh, hold still, I’ll get it.”

“Don’t answer it,” she called as he walked away. “Just bring it to me.”

She wasn’t expecting any calls, and most likely it was something work related or either Steve or Bucky calling to ask what time she’ll be home. But knowing her luck, there’s every chance it could be Dooney. It had been eight years since she’s heard his voice, and the thought of it filled her with the kind of ice cold fear she’s gone almost just as long without experiencing.

Memories of it whispering things in her ear, sometimes sweet but mostly cruel, his hand fisted in her hair.

Tony foraged through her bag, digging through the ridiculous amount of crap she carried with her every day until he could find her phone. The longer it rang, the shorter her breathing became, the part of her brain dedicated to stressing her out telling her it had to be Dooney, over and over. Of course, she almost stopped breathing entirely when Tony pulled her phone out of her bag, answered it with a “Yeah, she’ll have to all you back,” before hanging up and dropping it to the work bench.

“The hell?!” she yelled.

She was gearing up to lecture him about it (even though a small part of her is just relieved that if it was Dooney, there’s no way Tony would have even heard him speak, and now she didn’t have to either) when he turned to face her and she got good look at what he’d found. Clutched in his hand was her packet of cigarettes, his expression unreadable as he stared at her.

“Didn’t know you smoked Lewis,” he frowned, eyes darting all over her face pausing on the dark circles she knew were beneath her eyes.

“Yeah, so?” she was trying really hard for nonchalance, shrugging like it was no big deal. But she could hear her pulse thudding in her ears and knew that she hadn’t been quick enough getting the fear and panic from her expression.

“In fact,” Tony continued, she swallowed convulsively, throat suddenly dry. “I distinctly remember Jane talking about your quitting.”

She didn’t say anything, wide-eyed and silent like the proverbial dear caught in the headlights.

“Does she know about this?” he shook the tiny cardboard carton from side to side.

“Does Pepper know what you said to the Bolivian ambassador that got you banned from the country?” she spoke without thinking, her panic causing her to go straight into attack mode.

“That almost sounded like a threat,” his eyebrows climbed slowly upwards, but she could still see the suspicion and (even worse) hint of concern in his eyes.

Darcy needed to get out, she needed to get out now. Dropping the tiny components she was holding she pulled her arms from the depths of the still unidentified machine, storming over to where he was standing. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of tiny components falling to the ground, no doubt ruining his super complex, super expensive work. Without a word she slipped on her coat, snatching the cell from his hand and stuffing it into her purse before slinging it over her shoulder.

“How about you stay out of my life, and I’ll stay out of yours?” picking up the tablet she adopted a bland business façade, tone losing its icy edge and switching over to the professional one she used on the phone. “Ms Hill needs these, signed, thumb-printed, and back to her by eight o’clock. If there isn’t anything else Mr Stark I’m heading home. Have a pleasant evening.”

Not giving him the chance to respond, she shoved the tablet roughly into his chest before storming out without a backwards glance.

The whole elevator ride to the ground floor she was absolutely raging. Trying to quash any panic with an angry tirade against Tony. Who the hell did he think he was, going through her shit like that? It was none of his fucking business. Where the hell did he get off pretending he was concerned about her? He didn’t care, he was just nosy. He hated not knowing everything all of the time. Stupid entitled son of a b-

She ran straight into the guy, so angry she wasn’t paying any attention to where she was going, storming out of the front door and right into some random dude.

“Shit, sorry I – _you_.”

Barney Barton was standing in front of her, one hand on her arm to steady her and smiling brightly.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he grinned dropping his hand.

“What are you doing here?” her panic had picked right back up, had he been following her?

“I hope Stark pays you overtime for how late you stay,” he answered purposefully ignoring the question.

Darcy had had it. She was tired, absolutely exhausted, tired of games and not having control over anything in her life. She was sick of not knowing, sick of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Casting a glance up at where she knew there was a camera watching she grabbed him by the elbow and none-too-gently dragged him a bit further up the street. Anyone glancing at the surveillance would probably assume he was Clint, they did look alarmingly similar out of the corner of your eye. But she knew better than to assume that any security feed at Stark Tower _didn’t_ have audio.

When they were what she deemed a safe distance away she dropped his arm, turning to face him with a glare.

“Just say whatever it is they’re paying you to say,” she sighed, rubbing her temple where she could feel her headache growing. “I’ve had it up to here with know-it-all assholes.”

Her hand cut through the air just above her head almost audibly, indicating just how much she didn’t have time for bullshit. He smirked down at her, eyes alight with genuine mirth and crinkling at the edges in the same way that Clint’s did. She wondered how long he’d been with them, how deep he’d buried himself, when he’d reached that point where he knew there was no getting out.

“Radovan wants you to know that Dooney’s coming,” he conceded with a small nod. “That – and I’m paraphrasing here, I generally don’t like to use some of the names they were calling you – you can’t hide from them. No matter where you work, or who you live with, he’ll find you and you’ll get everything you deserve for what you did to him.”

Darcy can guess what he’s editing out, Radovan never had a problem calling a whore a whore, especially not to their face. It’s all too easy to imagine the kinds of names and insults he would use, the threats.

But that wasn’t the point of the message. It wasn’t to let her know that Dooney was coming, he was doing a good enough job of that by himself, subtlety never being one of his strong suits. The point of this was to tell her that _Radovan Kristic_ was coming. It wasn’t just Dooney acting on his own for revenge, it was the entire empire, right from the top all the way to the lowest foot soldier, coming for _her_ to doll out punishment for her transgressions.

Radovan had been deported after his arrest, shipped back home to Moldovia to face the consequences of his actions. Of course he never made it as far as prison, his connections were everywhere and his pockets were deep. He may never be able to set foot back in North America, but that wasn’t necessary anymore. There were enough family offshoots all over Canada and the States, allegiances with numerous gangs, everything he could ever want to keep his empire growing.

His entire life was built on his image, and nothing was worse for maintaining a good reputation than being foiled by the combined efforts of a mentally handicapped man and a hooker. Arthur had already been taken care of, Radovan had murdered him himself. But Darcy was still here, and as long as she was there was reason for people to question Radovan, to doubt him.

She almost wondered why he hadn’t come sooner, it had nothing to do with getting Dooney out of prison, that was just an added bonus, letting the psycho with a _very_ personal grudge have his revenge. Theoretically, if it had taken this long to find her, she should have been safe pretty much forever, nothing had really changed as far as her identity-

It hit her with the force of a truck, blowing all of the air from her lungs. The massive file drop that Natasha had performed. No doubt SHIELD had a file on her, they had files on everyone, and even though she was confident that even the former intelligence agency didn’t have a bead on who she really was, there was photos and footage. The news had been playing it on a loop for those first few weeks, mostly the destruction in DC, but then New York and eventually each of the Avengers was under the microscope.

Bruce flattening Harlem, Thor in Puente Antiguo, Tony’s house in Malibu. All it would have taken was someone who recognised her catching the smallest of glimpses.

After that, it would have been a simple decision really, use whatever influence he had left in the country to get Dooney released from prison early, give him whatever local muscle he needed, and let him take care of any dirty work. He would stay safely out of it, his hands (figuratively) clean of any involvement to those on the outside. To those in the know however, he had dealt with the problem in the most brutal way he could, just like he would deal with any other problems.

And telling her that, letting her know that that was how this was all going to go down, was meant to scare her. And it was definitely working.

“If that’s all,” her smile was bright and sarcastic, trying to hide the fact that she was scared out of her fucking mind right now.

“It’s not actually,” his face was suddenly serious. “I don’t know what’s going on, I just go where they tell me and I say what they want me to. I don’t know what you did – though knowing what I do about Dooney, I can guess – and the way I figure it, it’s not any of my business. What is my business is Clint.”

There wasn’t a trace of good humour on his features, he was staring down at her with the full force of the Barton resting murder face.

“Now I know he’s way past the point of needing his big brother to look out for him, but he is the only thing on this rock I really care about. Any threat I make is going to be nothing compared to what you’ve got going on, so I’m just going to ask-”

“I won’t let him anywhere near it,” she interrupted, eyes darting up towards where she knew the residential floors of the Tower were. “Any of them. It’s my mess and I’m the one who’ll take the fall. I won’t let them get dragged into it.”

“Thank you,” he said it softly, hand reaching out to squeeze her gently on the shoulder.

She’d already killed one man, she wasn’t about to let the blood on her hands sully anyone else, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to get them involved with the enormous living breathing growing organism that was the mob.

“You seem like a great kid,” Barney smiled dropping his hand again. “I’m not telling you to back off. He’s had a rough run, which I guess you know a little something about, and he deserves to have a bit of happiness. You may as well enjoy it.”

He didn’t say “while he can get it,” or “while you can,” but she could hear it in his tone anyway.

Because that was the truth of it, Darcy’s days were numbered. She had no way of stopping Dooney. Sure she could put it off, she could hide for a while, but she couldn’t stop him. The only way to do that would be to ask for help, to tell someone, anyone, what was going on, but she was way too much of a coward to do that. Her life would be over either way, this way she’d at least have the chance of dying without anyone knowing the truth about her, about what she’s done. If they found out after, well, she’d be gone. They could forget about her and move on with their lives.

Barney gripped her shoulder again, a small squeeze of an apology from one futureless fuck-up to another. Their days were numbered.

It was almost a relief, like a weight had been lifted. Yes she still had to hide, yes she still had to make sure that none of the others find out the truth. But it was as if now she’d acknowledged it, accepted the fact that there’s no surviving this, she could walk a little straighter, move a little freer. She could try to make the most of the short time she had left.

*

Of course it would be so much easier to pretend that everything was fine (in front of everyone else at least) if Tony Stark could _keep his fucking mouth shut._

The day after her little realisation (she wouldn’t go so far as to call it an epiphany though it was pretty close) was absolutely normal as far as anyone else was concerned. Yes she was ignoring Tony more completely than usual, but nobody else needed to know that.

She’d had lunch with Bucky before his appointment to get diagnostics run on his arm (it had been getting one hell of a workout, with all of the um… _physical_ activities he’d been undertaking recently. By which she meant all of the incredibly athletic superhero sex he’d been having. Loudly. When she was at home in the other room trying to see if she could make the couch open up and swallow her using only the power of her embarrassment) and he didn’t comment when she ignored six calls from Tony (because she usually did that anyways).

In fact, she managed to make it through the entire day, only communicating with Tony purely through email, sending him whatever she needed him to deal with. If anything, it was one of the best things to happen. He was trying to lure her into a false sense of security apparently, though she didn’t know what his game plan was after she was feeling falsely secure. Either way, he signed every requisition, filled out every form, completed every report, promptly and without any of her usual nagging. She’d made it all of the way to five o’clock without the usual headache and it actually looked like she would be leaving on time for once.

She should have known that her luck wouldn’t last.

She was packing all of her shit up, excited that she was leaving before seven and wondering if she could convince Steve and Bucky to get a bunch of stuff from the Jewish deli around the corner from their place, run by a 92 year old lady who barely spoke English and spent the majority of the time talking over them about how Bucky needed a haircut and telling him that he needed to buy Steve flowers more because he didn’t do it enough (which was hilarious because nine times out of ten she would tell Steve to do the same thing).

Romantic advice aside, she made the best goddamn knish Darcy had ever had the privilege of eating, and the brisket. Oh god on a sandwich with the pickle chips. Jesus.

It was when she was mentally orgasming over the thought of her dinner that Jane came into her office, knocking gently on the door frame. She was wearing jeans and a pair of Thor’s monster sized sweatshirts, hair hanging loose and the giant plush slippers shaped to look like royal guards that Darcy got her in England on her feet.

“Hey Boss-lady, I was just about to head out,” she smiled brightly, tossing her bag over her shoulder and moving around the desk.

She’d started calling Jane Boss-lady when she first started working for her, back when she was actually Darcy’s boss. Nowadays she kept using the nickname not because Jane was her boss, because you know she wasn’t, but because she was a boss of a human being. Pint sized and kind of a disaster at times, but a total boss.

“Yeah I know,” the brunette nodded. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me. Nothing fancy, I was going to order in some Thai. Figured we haven’t hung out much since your big promotion.”

Which was totally true. Darcy missed Jane, she missed listening to her ramble about her latest development, how passionately she talked about her work. She missed chatting about the lab and listening to Jane refer to the interns as their planeteer names without realising she was doing it. She missed the nights they would stay out in the dessert, watching the stars and gossiping about the crazy shenanigans that small towns were comprised of. She missed the Sunday’s they would spend in their pyjamas, watching stupid cartoons and ribbing Jane mercilessly about her sex life with the demi-god (small London flats should not be shared when there are asgardian princes who are madly in love involved. It’s _loud)._

Darcy missed her friend.

And since she had very recently (you know, yesterday) come to the realisation that life was indeed very short, and the resolution to make the most of it, she eagerly accepted Jane’s invitation. Sending off a quick text to Bucky, letting him know not to wait for her for dinner she followed the astrophysicist to the elevators.

When they got to hers and Thor’s apartment she kicked off her shoes, stealing a pair of Jane’s sweatpants and one of Thor’s other monster sized hoodies (they were awesome, huge and fluffy and so very soft, hanging almost to her knees). Jane made them tea and had already placed their usual order for Thai (between the par of them they’ve had it enough), so it wasn’t long before they were on the couch, divvying up the Massaman beef and working their way through their usual catch-up topics.

There’s a lull, the pair of them pausing in their conversation to stuff their face-holes with food, and Jane pounced.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she was staring at Darcy, an uncharacteristically severe look pinching her features.

And Darcy just knew, “Tony told you.”

Because she can see it written all over Jane’s face, angry that she didn’t catch it when the tiny scientist first knocked on her office door.

“He didn’t have to,” she sighed. “I’m not an idiot, I can tell when there’s something going on with you.”

“There’s really nothing going on. I’m f-”

“I swear to God Darcy Lewis, if you sit there and tell me that you’re fine when Bruce says he keeps seeing you sneak up to the roof to chain smoke I will slap the stupid right off of your face.”

She knew that Bruce saw no such thing. Neither his lab nor his living quarters were anywhere near where she went up to the roof. Tony had told her, and what was worse, he probably had Jarvis spying on her for further proof. The only reason Jane said Bruce was because Darcy was less likely to punch Bruce in the face. Not because she would be worried about him hulking out (which was a relevant concern) but because he was a total sweetheart and it was very hard to get mad at him. Jane even knows that Darcy knows it was Tony.

“Are you really going to listen to Tony Stark over me?” she challenged, trying to keep her tone light. “He’s just pissy because a computer runs his coffee machine and I hacked in to cut him off when he doesn’t do his job.”

Jane however, was not buying it.

“He cares about you, and he’s worried,” she sighed again. “We all are.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, ready to make a scathing remark about Tony but Jane knew her all too well, and cut her off with a mere look.

It was a precarious situation, because if she didn’t tell Jane anything, then she was going to just keep digging, watching closely until she figured out what was going on. The trick however, was making Jane work for it. The woman was a certified genius, if Darcy gave in too easily and just told her what she was stressing about then Jane would smell it for the bullshit that is was.

The other problem being that Jane knew her better than most, she was able to pick up on a lot of her tells. It was about finding a balance, sticking close enough to the truth that she would buy it, but far enough away that Darcy didn’t actually reveal even a sliver of what was really going on.

“It’s really not a big deal,” she avoided holding eye contact for too long, glance darting away every few seconds.

Jane’s face was a well composed combination of _I’m not buying it_ , and _just tell me the problem so I can help._

“Ok, it’s just…” she let out a defeated sigh, only a small one, very conscious of not over-selling it. “I’m not good at this.”

Jane blinked in response, eyes widening slightly, encouraging Darcy to elaborate.

“The whole being an adult and having actual legitimate responsibilities.”

And it was so very similar to the situation with Thor that Darcy almost laughed at the feeling of déjà vu. Everything else in her life that had taken a back seat to the crazy murderer stalking her came pouring out. All of it, that her actions had serious repercussions that not only affected her but hundreds of other people, that she was woefully under-qualified and probably only got the job because of Jane.

“I can barely look after a pot plant,” they’d both been there to witness her gang-green thumb in Puente Antiguo. “Let alone important business decisions that could cost the company millions of dollars. And people’s jobs! What if because of me someone gets fired and becomes destitute and has to move to New Jersey? I just… I guess I got so caught in a spiral of what would actually happen when I fuck up that I fell back into bad habits.”

She didn’t have to fake the guilty look on her face, though Jane thought it was because she’d started smoking again when it was actually because she really wasn’t spending enough time worrying about these things. All of it was true, she was under-qualified and she did have way too much power to ruin other people. She should have just stuck to ruining herself.

“You really don’t see yourself that clearly do you?” Jane’s voice was soft, her smile filled with something Darcy couldn’t quite figure out.

She flashed her friend an unimpressed look, trying to cover the fact that she didn’t actually see what her point was.

“Darcy,” she rolled her eyes in a long suffering way. “You’re just so good with people. You have your way of doing things sure, but you can look at someone and just figure out what they need, how they respond. The way you worked with me, you have no idea how much easier it is to do what I do when you have someone who not only understands what I want – even if they don’t fully understand the science behind it – but can tell me what I _need_ , even if I didn’t necessarily agree at the time.”

Her smile is teasing but genuine, a real gratitude underlying the humour.

“You get Tony to do stuff in a way that only Pepper was ever able to. Even Maria pointed it out. You’re pushy without being overbearing, you see people, the way they operate and what they want and just make it happen without pandering or condescending to them. You have no idea how much easier it is to do what we do when you’re around.”

And isn’t that just fucking perfect. Darcy got exactly what she wanted, she’d thrown Jane off of the scent. But as she sat there, listening to Jane say all of these nice things about her, she’d never felt like such a liar. And not just because she was literally sitting there _lying_ to Jane’s face about what was going on. But because she was also making a liar out of Jane.

None of those things that Jane was saying were true. She was not good, or amazing. If Jane knew, knew who she was and what she’d done, she would be saying something very different.

But Darcy wouldn’t need Jane to look at her with disgust, to call her the awful things she deserved. Sitting here, on her couch, feeling like the biggest lying fraud, she already knew.

*

Clint was not a fucking idiot, and we was not blind. Mostly deaf yes, but there was a reason that his goddamn code name was _Hawkeye_. As in eye of the hawk people.

So he knew that there was something going on with Darcy, he’d noticed for a while. But at the same time he was a big believer in _Privacy_ , capitol P. And as much as he liked Darcy, as much as he genuinely cared about her, he wasn’t about to go trampling through her personal shit unless she asked him to.

As much as he might want to.

They were on the common floor, him on the couch on his second bowl of Lucky Charms, and she was spinning around slowly on one of the bar stools claiming that she was doing “important work” on her phone when he knew for a fact that she was playing Candy Crush while she waited for the geriatric lovebirds to finish whatever it was they were doing so they could all catch the subway home together.

He was drinking the sugar-saturated milk from the bottom of the bowl and considering whether or not he wanted to get up for a third helping when Tony same storming out of the elevators.

“You ratted me out to Pepper,” he called out, frowning at Darcy. “I can’t believe you actually ratted me out to Pepper.”

Darcy didn’t respond other than to pause in her spinning, eyebrows raised at Stark over her phone.

“Do you know what you cost me?” he didn’t actually pause for a response. “My cars. That’s right, Pepper took my T-Birds away. Guess what I won’t be having anymore?”

“An overwhelming urge to share other people’s secrets?” her expression was her usual deadpan, but Clint could detect the real anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Well, I was going to say fun, fun, fun.”

She shrugged, tucking her phone into her bag as she slid off of the stool, waving a cheerful goodbye to him but flashing a “you brought this upon yourself” glare at Tony.

“Jarvis,” she called out as she headed to the elevators. “Can you let the dynamic duo know that I’ll be waiting for them downstairs?”

The doors sliding shut cut off the AI’s response, leaving the pair of them alone in the cavernous space. It was Tony that broke the resulting silence.

“Something isn’t right,” he was still staring at the closed elevator doors, and Clint couldn’t see his face, but his tone was uncharacteristically serious.

“You mean aside from you acting like an adolescent?” Clint smirked putting his empty bowl on the coffee table. “No, wait. That seems pretty normal.”

“I meant with Darcy.”

It’s not until he realised that Tony wasn’t using one of his usual epithets, or even calling her Lewis, that Clint saw how serious he was.

“I mean, I don’t even care about the cars,” he shrugged, turning to face Clint, frowning. “Pepper’s done _way_ worse in the past. I just wanted to see how she’d react, goad her into using one of her sassy rejoinders. I’m worried. Goddammit, I like the kid and I’m worried about her.”

And well, Clint was starting to get really fucking worried too. Unlike Stark, he’d seen her before, back in the dessert. When she was loud and carefree and just taking up so much space with her mere presence. Now she was jumpy and withdrawn, the dark circles under her eyes were rivalling what Barnes’ used to look like when he first came in from the cold.

If it had been a few months ago, when he’d first seen her around, he’d have chalked it up to what happens to people when they see the sky open up and hell trying to claw its way through the cracks. He definitely wasn’t the same after all of the shit with Loki. But it had been the last few weeks that had shown real change, after she’d been working for Hill, after she’d befriended the ex-assassin. Something else had happened in that time.

So yeah, he had a bit of a better bead on Darcy than Tony did, he knew just as well that there was something wrong, but unlike Tony he also knew, “You’re never going to get anywhere by pushing her.”

“Girl’s as stubborn as they come,” nodded Tony, frown now directed at the glass floor.

And wasn’t that the truth.

He cared about Darcy, more than he was willing to let her know for fear of scaring her off, but he also knew better than most that it would do no good to try to force it out of her. He learnt the hard way with Nat that it took time before people were willing to trust you with the things that are trying to destroy them. He had the scars to prove it.

All he could do was be there, try to show her that he wouldn’t use whatever the information was against her. Show her that the weight of whatever it was could crush her, and that is was ok to ask for help. Maybe one day she would trust him enough to let him share some of the load.

Strange how he couldn’t fight the feeling that it was not going to be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't get over this, I want to bake everyone a cake. You're all so nice! 
> 
> Once again, un-beta'd all mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out.


	9. One Double D and A Texas Melt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So we never actually had that talk.”
> 
> “What talk is that?” he asked, amazed she could understand him given how his voice was muffled by the large portion of sweaty gym mat he had in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm just going to leave this here...
> 
> (Also Jin Hyek Oh won gold in the London Olympics for Archery, in case you were wondering)

Clint spent a vast majority of his time fighting crime. Now that SHIELD was officially “no longer in operation” (by which he meant reduced a smaller even more covert force run by Director “Surprise I’m not actually dead” Coulson) the amount of missions he got sent on was zero. Technically he wasn’t even Agent Barton anymore, though for some reason Jarvis would call him nothing else.

That being said, he was an Avenger, and whilst the missions they tend to go on are way more weird (slime-monster weird) they were also fewer and farther between. But, just because he had a lot more recovery time, did not mean he could just sit with his thumb up his ass watching _Dog Cops_ (as much as he loved _Dog Cops_ ). Which was why he was in the gym.

Well, Stark called it a gym, basically it was an entire two floors of the building (below all of the residential floors and personal labs, but above any of the Stark Industry floors) comprised of state of the art exercise equipment capable of withstanding super soldiers and demi-gods, full scale obstacle courses complete with both holographic and drone targets, shooting ranges designed for both archery and firearms, a dance studio, a boxing ring, showers, a spa, sauna, and during business hours fully qualified massage staff and physical therapists. Plus the sound system was awesome.

Basically Tony had taken one look at the Training Floor the tributes use in the _Hunger Games_ movies and said “I can do better.” He had, but Clint was never going to say that to his face. Besides which, the gymnastics equipment was boring.

Clint was still trying to convince Tony that putting in a high-wire and trapeze was a good plan. Even just a big-ass trampoline. It was kind of boring having to make do with climbing through the exposed steel rafters. There’s only so many times you can drop down and scare someone before it becomes dull. Hell, Steve and Thor were the only ones who were even surprised in the first place, Natasha and Bucky didn’t so much as flinch.

But that was completely beside the point. If Clint was going to get into listing the equipment he needed Tony to buy (as he was basically the Avengers’ sole financial backer) it would take such a long time. Not that he didn’t have it, the time that is. As he’d already established, he had quite a bit to spare.

So, like he did most days, he spent some time working out and a few hours on the range. He may be the best archer in the world (if Jin Hyek Oh wanted to come and challenge that, then he was game) but he wouldn’t stay that way for very long if he didn’t practice.  

He should have known that when Natasha came in asking if he wanted to spar that she had an ulterior motive. He had very few people he could spar with since Thor, Steve and Bucky would _flatten him_ and that was without even trying. Tony had no concept of rules and spent half the time when you called him out on something making Jarvis show them an instant action replay and the other half whining that he couldn’t wear his suit. Wilson was pretty good, he had a very straight forward fighting style from his air-force days and was always eager to learn new stuff, but he actually had a day job so was hardly ever around.

So he’d readily agreed, more than happy to have a partner. She really was the perfect person for him to spar with, there was enough trust between them that they could almost fight for real but never really hurt the other. They’d been training together for so many years that both their individual styles had been effected in turn, her fluidly precise movements giving way to sneakier, dirtier moves, and him becoming more disciplined and controlled.

They had some pretty strict rules when they sparred, given that they were some of the only people on the team who didn’t heal from minor wounds basically instantly, they had to be careful that they wouldn’t put themselves out of action in the name of training. Bumps and bruises were unavoidable, but they had been doing this for over a decade and apart from the first few tries (when Natasha didn’t trust him any farther than _he_ could throw _her_ – she had proven pretty early on that despite her tiny dancer’s stature she could actually toss him pretty far) they had never reached the point of drawing blood.

Natasha would win hands down if it actually came to a real fight between the two, as she’d already proven on the helicarrier. When she let loose, using her body as the weapon it was honed to be from a very young age, she was almost unstoppable. The fact that his influence meant she wasn’t afraid to fight dirty (the bite-marks he swore were still visible on his arm proof of that) pretty much guaranteed that no matter who her opponent was, super soldier, demi-god, whatever, he would always bet on Natasha.

Which was why, when they sparred, ninety percent of the time he wound up losing. By a lot.

She currently had him pinned face down, arms and legs twisted up behind him in such a way that if she were using ropes instead of her arms and legs to hold him in place he would basically be hog-tied. Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere she apparently decided it was high time she revealed the real reason she’d come down.

“So we never actually had that talk.”

“What talk is that?” he asked, amazed she could understand him given how his voice was muffled by the large portion of sweaty gym mat he had in his mouth.

She sighed. Usually she wouldn’t, she had way more control over herself than to let those sort of involuntary sounds out. But it was deliberate, something to make up for the fact that he can’t actually see the displeasure on her face pinned as he was. He groaned as she pulled back on his limbs, enough to push his chest and face further into the mat but not enough to actually hurt him.

“So,” and her voice wasn’t even a little ruffled, if anything it sounded sweet, like they were chatting over coffee. “How are things going with Darcy?”

Somehow (he isn’t even entirely sure how) he managed to dislodge her, only _almost_ dislocating his shoulder in the process. Rolling away and onto his feet he turned to face her, assuming a defensive stance and fixing her with a shit-eating grin.

“Whatever are you talking about Natasha?”

They talk shit a lot when they fight, goading each other like children as they trade blows. It’s one of the reasons he’s so fluent in Russian insults.

The expression she fixed him with was one that he’s only ever seen used on him. An eloquent glare that manages to yell, _Clinton you fucking idiot._ It was all the warning he got before in about three seconds and a blurred mass of flailing limbs she had him pinned once again. This time his legs were out in front of him so that he was basically folded in half, arms crushed under the weight of his chest and her perched on top of him.

His left ear was being held delicately between her finger and thumb and before he could even think about playing dumb again she gave it a sharp twist.

“Ow, ow, _ow,_ ” he whimpered. “ _Jesus_.”

“Care to revise your answer?”

He strained to free one of his hands, using it to tap twice on the mat admitting defeat. Giving his ear one more tug she released him. By the time he’d managed to climb to his feet Natasha was outside of the ring, leaning casually against a weight machine and drinking from her water bottle.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break my hearing aid,” he whined, ignoring the fact that the pair that Stark had designed for him were done so specifically to withstand blows to the head.

She didn’t dignify that with a response, merely taking another sip of water and watching him intently.

“I don’t know why you ask questions you already know the answer to,” he pushed against the small of his back, groaning when it cracked loudly.

She just gave him another unimpressed look, before putting down the bottle and slipping between the ropes and back into the ring, resuming her position and signalling to start again.

He cracked his neck from side to side, shaking out his arms and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Sometimes he liked to lunge a little, stretch out his hamstrings, but mostly just waste time trying to psyche himself up. There was a moment’s pause before they jumped in, lunging straight toward each other. As with most fights they started slow, exchanging blows for several moments to get into the rhythm, almost like warming up.

As they progressed it got rougher, harder blows, trickier angles. They are so adept at reading the other that a majority of the time Clint was blocking before Nat had even jabbed, or she was dodging his punches before they flew. They really did have to push themselves to get an advantage, or at least Clint did, Natasha had always been able to mop the floor with him.

“Have you tried asking her out on a date?” once again she didn’t even sound a little winded, if anything her tone made him think that she was not only laughing at him, but that she was speaking to a small child.

He made the mistake of almost pausing to throw her an unimpressed glare and she mercilessly pressed the advantage to clock him with an elbow to the side of the head. It’s not nearly as hard as she would have hit were they fighting for real, they were just working out, not trying to injure each other. But he fell to the side either way, managing to dodge a second attack by rolling into a crouch.

“I have no idea where I’d even take her!” he groaned. “She’s not normal. I mean, she’s great. Awesome even. She’s – she’s Darcy. I need somewhere Darcy enough.”

“So find out,” she didn’t shrug, only because it would compromise the strength of her punches, but he could tell that she wanted to.

Clint was about to ask her how in the hell he was supposed to do that without straight up asking her, when in a move he’s only ever seen her use on Steve she has him flat on his back, hands pinned as her thighs gently squeezed his diaphragm.

“You are an actual secret agent,” she enunciated each word clearly, eyes boring into his. “Utilize your outside sources.”

“The geriatrics wouldn’t know,” he was kicking his legs, trying to get enough leverage to throw her off but barely jostling her. “Even if she’s practically living with them. Can you imagine some of the gimmicky shit they’d suggest?”

Her green eyes said it all, _Clint Barton you fucking dummy_ , as her hold on his chest gently tightened. Because of course, _of course_ he forgot he could just ask Jane or Thor, who not only have known her for years but would have actually heard about dates she would have been on. Which she’d liked, which she didn’t.

“Aw hell.”

*

Of course, asking someone’s close friends what sort of date they would like was easier said than done.

He knew that Thor and Darcy went out together as much as they could and was trying to subtly gage if there were any places she definitely liked. That being said, Thor had been next to no help, launching into a long list of chain restaurants and hole-in-the-wall places that hosted “Midgardian feasting challenges” he apparently found hilarious. Which was all well and good, Clint had watched Thor eat seven complete batches of waffles in one sitting and it was suitably impressive, but didn’t actually help him all that much.

Which was of course made infinitely worse when Thor realised just _why_ Clint was asking about the kinds of places Darcy liked to go out to dinner, and his intentions to “court” Darcy.

Getting the shovel talk from an eight foot wall of golden godly muscle with the ability to shoot a lightning bolt up his ass (being tased was bad enough) and/or pummel him into a sticky paste with his hammer? Fucking terrifying. Thor was a very serious guy when it came to doing battle, but the majority of the time he was a great big ball of enthusiastic sunshine and Clint was not ready for that particular switch to flip. It was like he could see electricity crackling in his blue eyes.

Which is why he’d high-tailed it to Dr Foster’s lab (ignoring the way Thor had laughed at the involuntary squeak he’d let loose). He didn’t really know her all that well, they’d spoken a couple of times when they congregated for what Tony referred to as “family dinner” but he wouldn’t exactly call her a close friend. He tired explaining the disaster of asking Thor’s advice as an ice-breaker, a sort of “asgardians man, what can you do?” only to be completely blindsided by her response.

“Well, those are the sort of places they go on their ‘bro-dates’,” she rolled her eyes at the term. “But he’s sort of on the right track.”

“You’re kidding,” he blinked, trying to determine whether or not she was messing with him. “The perfect place to take Darcy to dinner is Applebee’s?”

“You wanted somewhere ‘Darcy’,” she shrugged.

And well, she had a point. That was exactly why he was asking, because he wanted somewhere perfect. It may sound stupid but there were so many things he wanted. He wanted it to be nice and casual so there wasn’t any pressure, but also special because it would be their first official date. He wanted something that would hopefully make her smile but not treat the entire evening like a joke. Preferably something that was romantic but where he didn’t completely embarrass himself.

“Look,” Jane turned to face him and he was surprised by the intensity of her gaze. “I know we barely know each other, but I do actually hear a lot about you, from Thor, from Bruce, and especially from Darcy. And she’s been stressing out over work stuff recently and just really needs a night off. I think you guys could be good together.”

She smiled at him, sort of shyly, like she wasn’t used to having these sorts of conversations. That made two of them. He may have been married (twice, Jesus) but it had been a long time since he’d gone out on an actual date.

“Darcy hates going places where she feels like she can’t be herself. She doesn’t get embarrassed easily, and she’s not going to pretend, but she hates being somewhere people purposefully make her uncomfortable for being who she is. The last time some idiot tried to impress her by taking her so some incredibly fancy restaurant she panicked because she couldn’t, and I quote, ‘sensor herself enough to not offend everyone there and get them kicked out’. She didn’t talk for like the entire meal, just mostly nodded politely.”

And Clint could see it. He’d never pegged her as someone who was ashamed of who they were or how they acted, but she was definitely the kind of person who would try not to make anyone else uncomfortable. She didn’t cater to anyone’s perceptions of her, but probably wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone else because of what she did.

“Take her somewhere where she can be comfortable just being who she is, because that’s who you want to date. And Darcy is the same, she likes you, she doesn’t need you pretending to be all fancy to impress her, because the person she spent about an hour rambling about the other night when she was having dinner with me was you, just how you are. And no offense, but you strike me as a beer and bar nuts kind of guy, not _folle blanche_ and _foie gras_.”

Given that he only knew what one of those things was, he figured that she definitely had a point.

“My advice?” Jane smiled. “Don’t come at this so seriously, all she would really want is to have a good time. Look at what you like doing on a Friday night and go from there.”

And well, as obvious as it seemed, he was really glad that Jane had explained it to him. Because she was right, he didn’t want Darcy to feel like she had to act a certain way around him, and he definitely didn’t want her to like him for some character he had to put on. The Darcy he wanted to “court”, as Thor had put it, was the one who had faced off with a not-entirely stable ex-assassin and then tased him in the balls due to the resulting panic.

He wanted the Darcy who refused to make out when him when he was drunk because she didn’t want to ruin whatever chance of a friendship they had. He liked the Darcy who gave herself pep talks – out loud and in public – when she was stressed, who called him stupid names like cupcake, and conspired to get Captain America drunk so he and his best friend could figure out that they were in love with each other.

He wanted the Darcy who gave him shit for watching _Ben 10_ but would defend the stupid show about the cat and the goldfish until her last breath.

So yeah, he maybe had a better idea of where he wanted to take her for dinner, somewhere cheesy but stupid and potentially a little offensive but in the good kind of way. Something a little outside of the box.

Turning to thank Jane he headed for the exit, pausing when the tiny scientist called his name.

She was back to working on whatever crazily complicated machine _that_ was, smoke curling from the soldering gun, her eyes not moving from where they were focused on her task.

“I’m working on inter-dimensional travel,” she explained, and while it was a little out of left field it was apparently important enough to stop him. “Basically trying to get create something that will move us from this dimension to another, like Asgard. The trick is getting it to do so without completely pulling you apart at a molecular level so that you resemble an explosion of goo when you arrive. Unfortunately, it’s not really quite there yet.”

He waited patiently for her to continue, watching her pause in her soldering to look him dead in the eye. It was the kind of look that Natasha loved, the one that spoke simply and eloquently of just how _fucked_ you were.

“If you so much as think about hurting her,” her voice was like ice, calm and serious and threatening to break and drop you to your death at any given moment. “I’m going to use this to send you to the furthest reaches of _Jötunheim_ , and believe me when I say I wouldn’t care if it was you facing off against the frost giants or your sticky liquid remains.”

It took him a second to regain his ability of movement, swallowing down the lump in his throat as she once again returned to work, not entirely able to shake the genuine fear settling low in his gut, even when he was safely inside the elevator.

As he ascended the many floors of the tower he decided, if it ever come down to a choice of facing off with Thor or Jane, he would definitely take being beaten to a bloody pulp by the God of Thunder.

Any. Day. Of. The. Goddamned. Week.

*

Darcy hadn’t really been on a whole heck of a lot of dates. She was pretty sure she could count the number of actual dates she’d been on on her fingers. Nearly half of them were with Ian, even though he knew pretty early on that it was never going anywhere, he liked to go and see movies with someone who didn’t mind that he spent most of the time pointing out the scientific inaccuracies. He was a sweet kid and she’d still consider him a friend. In fact she kind of wanted to set him up with Water.

But that was completely beside the point. Dates: she’d never really been on them. Between sleeping her way through most of her college and spending twenty-six hours a day working with Jane and now for Hill, she just never had.

This? This was the best fucking date she’d been on in a long time.

Firstly because it felt like it was out of the blue, because whilst they were still flirting up a storm and had occasional sneaky make-out session in various unoccupied offices and storage areas (twice okay? Or maybe three times. Fine, four) they hadn’t actually told anyone that they were anything, because they kind of weren’t?

Bucky had suspicions, and kept trying to sneak surprise questions into conversation, in the hopes of tricking answers out of her. Steve was equally curious she could tell, but also much more polite about it, believing her when her genuine response was “I don’t actually know” and trying to dissuade Bucky from pestering her (even if it was a little deserved, she did after all meddle in their love life, so they should be able to meddle in hers).

And now that she thought about it, Natasha definitely knew there was something going on. She was Clint’s best friend so Darcy was completely ok with the idea that Clint had talked to her about it (she’d blathered on forever the other night at Jane’s when the topic had safely moved away from what was wrong in Darcy’s life) but at the same time, Natasha gave off the aura that she just _knew_ everything. That whatever Clint had told her was actually insignificant to the kinds of information she already had access to. It was kind of creepy but in a sweet way, though that didn’t do much to quell the feeling that when Natasha was staring at her she was being x-rayed.

But she and Clint had never actually talked about what they were, which again, totally cool. She was happy to just casually hang out, flirt and then make out for an hour until she felt like her insides were melting and her brain was pouring out of her ears. So when he came up to her earlier in the week and asked if he could take her out for dinner she’d been a little surprised. But you know, in the good way.

She _wanted_ to go out to dinner, to have a night where it was just the two of them and they could actually talk without one of his teammates listening in or the disapproving scowl of an ex-soviet assassin burning holes in the side of her head. Which was why she’d spent the interim time feeling a nice mix of excited and happy.

Until of course she realised she’d never been on a proper date, unless you counted the time one of the guys she met in Puente Antiguo had thought it necessary to drive her all the way into the nearby city to take her to a Fancy restaurant. And hadn’t that been an unmitigated disaster. She was pretty sure she didn’t actually say much the whole night. God, she hoped Clint wasn’t going to try something like that. If he was stupid enough to ask Tony there was no way they were going somewhere that served the meal in less than six courses.

If he’d asked Steve and Bucky they were probably going to Coney Island, which would be fun, and they’d no doubt have a great time, but it was a _Steve &Bucky_ thing. She wanted to do something that was Clint and Darcy. Even though they weren’t really a one word name couple yet.

The worst part was that Clint refused to tell her where they were going, said he wanted it to be a surprise. Which made her mad because she hated not knowing things, but at the same time made her excited because he was actually going to the effort of surprising her which was kind of sweet. But frustrating.

She wasn’t even able to trick it out of him, trying to get him to take pity on her by complaining that she wouldn’t know what to wear. But he’d been ready for her, telling her that it wasn’t too fancy and if she thought she would be over/under-dressed to check with Natasha, who of course knew where they were going.

He wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell Steve or Bucky, so she couldn’t even get it out of them. Steve couldn’t keep a secret to save his life and Bucky told him everything anyway.

In the end she’d opted for one of her trusty black dresses (one of the tighter ones because well, she wasn’t above punishing Clint for keeping everything so hush-hush) and a darker shade of red lipstick. She’d paired it with boots and her leather jacket to tone it down a little before sending a selfie to Natasha for final approval. Because apparently that was something she did now, double-checking date outfits with the Black Widow. Her life was weird.

Clint picked her up from Steve and Bucky’s, which was basically mortifying for everyone involved. She’d come out of the bathroom about four minutes before Clint was going to arrive to find that Bucky had taken out one of his sniper rifles and was cleaning/re-assembling it on the dining room table.

She’d barely had time to let out an undignified snarl/squeak type noise before there was a knock at the door because of course Clint had come early, who wouldn’t want to spend _more_ time getting death-glares from the ex-brainwashed-assassin as he cleaned his rifle whilst Captain America gave him a serious talk.

Because that was what happened. Steve managed to jump up and answer the door while she was busy staring open-mouthed at Bucky, greeting Clint warmly but with a stern Captain America expression gracing his features. Which was why it was infinitely worse when he started talking about being respectful towards women and he didn’t want any funny business to go on tonight.

It was around about the time that he mentioned _curfews_ that Darcy snapped out of her trance-like horror. Because Jesus Christ this is what it must be like for teenaged girls who hadn’t run away from home when they brought a boy over for the first time. _And Clint was older than them_. Not obviously going by date of birth, but when you considered all of the time the dinosaurs had been frozen they were barely pushing thirty.

Grabbing Clint’s hand (who was looking slightly horrified, a lot alarmed and _very_ confused) and dragging him from the apartment she yelled over her shoulder, “Yeah thanks Dads, bye. Don’t wait up!”

They practically ran down the stairs, the door slamming shut behind them.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed, as they jogged along the sidewalk. “This is what it must be like to have an overprotective father. Please ignore them, they’re old, they forget how to human sometimes.”

They slowed to a more sedate pace, and Clint merely laughed in response, giving her a squeeze where her hand was still held in his. His hands were quite big, not freakishly so, but enough to make hers feel small by comparison. They were warm and soft but with rougher patches that she assumed were from archery-related things. He hailed them a cab, and they sat quietly in the back seat for the whole ride.

Her nerves were beginning to rear their ugly heads again, now that the distraction of how her friends were _deranged_ had passed. The majority of the afternoon had been ok, she had lunch with Jack and Max and they had done their best to tease her about having a date until Darcy had asked Jack if he was seeing anyone and Max had not hesitated to tell her all about Sun, the Korean exchange student he’d apparently been “mooning over for the last six months”. The subject had been dropped pretty quickly after that.

By the time they pulled up and climbed out she was kind of freaking a little. All of a sudden the things that they did all of the time seemed so much more difficult now they were on a “date”. Ignore the fact that they literally talk all of the time, what the hell were they supposed to talk about now?

And then she caught sight of where he’d brought them and none of that even mattered. Because he hadn’t tried to be super fancy, he hadn’t booked them a horse-drawn carriage ride (it was New York that kind of shit happened) he’d booked them a table at Hooters.

Throwing her head back she laughed, physically feeling the nerves and tension drain out of her body and onto the street. It was great, funny but not mean, casual but still dinner and somewhere she could talk loudly and eat crap and not have to stress about what was going on around her. The elated smile dropped from her lips when she turned and got a good look at Clint.

There was panic and a little bit of disappointment he was trying to hide, and because he thought it was due to her laughing at him it sobered her up quickly.

“No,” she smiled, reaching out to take his hand again. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just. This is perfect. This is exactly what I need.”

She waited until he relaxed a little, smiling brightly but sincerely up at him until she saw the genuine relief on his face.

“Come on,” she gave his hand a tug. “I want an awful burger the size of my face.”

When they’d been seated and had ordered (“Double D. I don’t even care what’s in it, it is clearly my burger”) Clint was still looking a little nervous, and she felt awful for laughing before, because this was perfect, and she didn’t want him to think she was making fun of him, especially when he’d probably gone to a bit of effort thinking of somewhere to go.

“You know I was considering this as a back-up career,” she smiled, looking around at the Hooter’s Girls. “If the whole assistant to genius thing didn’t pan out.”

“You?” he smiled, tension slowly draining from his shoulders as his tone turned teasing. “You don’t have the temperament for this sort of work. Having to pretend people are always funny and interesting? You’d make it a week before you tossed a drink in someone’s face.”

“Excuse me,” she was grinning however. “Not only do I have all of the natural assets for this work, I will have you know that I deal with Tony Stark on a daily basis. I am more than capable of pretending people are important.”

“Sure you are,” he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Because you’ve _never_ done anything to Tony in retribution. Like cut him off from his coffee, or get his cars confiscated, or played Rebecca Black loudly and on repeat just outside his workshop for an hour because he was refusing to come out?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she replied primly. “I am a very responsible and professional employee who would never stoop to such childish acts.”

And it really was that simple, once they started talking (he said he could run his own beauty parlour, having plenty of experience during his days in the circus. She’d snorted soda out of her nose when he suggested Steve would be equally as qualified after touring with the USO girls and Bucky could learn to do hair) it was just like any other day, eating their way through their burgers and stealing fries off of each other’s plates even though they were exactly the same.

Somewhere during their discussion of alternative career choices his feet somehow found their way over to hers, resting lightly around her ankle in a move that was both adorable and sent a warm thrill through her.

“So your SHIELD file from Puente Antiguo,” he gave her a small wince, probably worried she thought he was being a creeper. “Said you were a political science major?”

She knew he was on assignment when they were in New Mexico, and assumed that he had probably had to read through some boring SHIELD background check on her, Jane and Eric. She didn’t mind, it was his job after all and there wasn’t anything more than the basic in there (she’d read it herself not long after they’d stolen, sorry confiscated, all of Jane’s junk).

“Minoring in Journalism,” she nodded.

“Journalism?” he seemed surprised, which was fair enough, she wasn’t exactly utilizing that particular qualification nowadays.

“I was going to be a political correspondent for some sort of liberal rag,” she explained, rolling her eyes at her own naivety. “Uncovering corruption and injustice.”

 _Just like Lois Lane_. The thought slipped in uninvited, the words forever imprinted in her brain. She’d written exactly one published news article in her life, something she submitted to the local rag and had actually tweaked as an admission essay for Culver. Mostly it was her way of making sure that people actually understood Arthur, that they saw him for what he was, the way that she saw him. She wasn’t worried that she’d somehow disappointed him by not sticking to her promise to be a reporter, helping Jane seemed like something a little more worthwhile. Something that actually made a difference.

“So how did you end up working for Jane?”

“Poor sense of direction mostly,” she laughed. “That and my inability to resist Jane’s doe-eyes.”

He didn’t ask her what made her choose journalism in the first place, and she was grateful. A small part of her wondered if they would have ever gotten to a point where she would tell him, not necessarily about her past, but about Arthur. It was one of the things she regretted most about keeping that part of herself secret, that she couldn’t tell people about Arthur, couldn’t share with them stories of the single best person she’d ever known.

But it was pointless to dwell on it either way, there was no point focussing on what if. What if she didn’t have what was probably only weeks left to live? What if she and Clint had the chance to do more than have a couple of dates at best? Where would the future take them?

It was pointless because they did only have the time for a few dates, she did only have a short amount of time left. And she’d accepted that, accepted that she was going to try and make the most of it, give Clint whatever she could because Barney asked her to, because he deserved it.

They walked for a while after dinner, holding hands and throwing stupid little shy smiles at the other occasionally. Without really discussing it they ended up on the subway back out to Brooklyn, heading to Clint’s building (because apparently he bought an apartment block with his Avenger’s money) where he lived the majority of the time.

Darcy was planning on meeting his dog, hang out on his couch for a bit, maybe continue their conversation, and maybe watch a movie. She was going to be a responsible lady and adhere to Jane’s third date rule. Seriously, she was.

Then she listened to him explain _why_ he’d bought the entire building, and watched his face light up as he’d greeted a few of his neighbours and introduced her. Then she’d remembered that Steve and Bucky weren’t in the other room and Jarvis wasn’t privy to everything they did.

Which was why the door had barely clicked shut and Clint only managed to get out, “Lucky is probably asleep on my b-” before she had stretched up on the very tips of her toes (he was like five inches taller than her) and kissed him.

Aggressively semi-mounting and pressing him into the wall was more accurate, but she had better things to be doing than arguing semantics.

His hands slipped around her waist immediately, one curving around to the small of her back as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together from chest to knee. She had a good grip on his hair, fingers twisted through the short strands on the back of his neck as the kiss grew immediately hotter, all tongues and teeth. In a move that showed off just how impressive the strength of his arms were, he picked her up, his hands slipping under her thighs, lifting her so that they were finally eye to eye, her legs wrapping easily around his waist.

He turned, so that it was her back pressed against the wall, all of her breath pushing from her lungs as he took control of the kiss until she could feel it all the way to her toes. Her hips were rolling in slow insistent circles against him, she could feel the rough denim of his jeans through her tights.

They could have been there for minutes or hours, she didn’t know and she really didn’t fucking care, too focused on testing just how long they could make out before she absolutely needed to breathe, panting as he trailed his lips along her neck, licking a warm stipe along the curve of her jaw and biting down slightly on the place her pulse was thudding away.

It was the sound of her phone ringing that made them break apart finally, breathing heavily but not loud enough to drown out the sound of a dog barking coming from down the hall.

They stayed that way for a moment, just smiling breathlessly as her phone stopped and the barking got louder. When it started to ring again Clint let out a small chuckle.

“You should probably get that,” he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’m going to make sure Lucky doesn’t crap all over my bed with excitement.”

It took another couple of seconds – both of them trading short kisses and laughing stupidly – before he finally released her, letting her down gently and with one last kiss, headed towards what she assumed was his bedroom.

Fumbling for her phone she wandered through the apartment, heading for the couch as Steve’s dedicated ringtone (a recording of him singing “Beez in the Trap” from when he was drunk the previous weekend) blared loudly.

“Steven Grant Rogers this better be fucking important because I am very close to engaging in the kinds of activities that you can’t discuss without blushing, and buddy-”

“Darcy.”

And with one word the teasing smile disappeared from her face, dropping through the floor with what felt like her stomach, “What is it?”

“It’s Jack.”

“Jack?” she frowned, like she couldn’t connect the name with Steve’s tone, dripping as it was with empathy and concern. “Why…?”

Her vision was going weird around the edges as she stumbled back a step. There was someone speaking to her, her name echoing on repeat, but she was having a hard time hearing them over the blood rushing in her ears and the loud in-and-out of her breathing. Each inhalation felt like it was getting closer to the one before, and some small part of her brain told her she was staring to hyperventilate.

Everything felt disjointed, one second she was standing and the next she was sitting on a couch, a wet nose snuffling at the side of her face and something warm and furry pressed against her side.

“Ok,” that was Clint. “Thanks Steve, we’ll meet you there.”

Darcy blinked, Clint’s face coming into focus slightly. It took another second before she realised he was kneeling in front of her, hands holding both of hers and resting on her knees, frowning up at her with nothing but concern on his face. Concern for her, because she was having a panic attack on his couch.

Which was totally not the point right now.

“Jack,” her voice was much stronger than she thought it would be, some of her clarity returning as her eyes locked onto Clint.

He paused for a moment, eyes carefully checking over her, “We’re going to him now.”

“Where?” she was already getting to her feet, Clint taking hold of her elbow in case she stumbled.

But she wouldn’t, couldn’t, not now. Now something had happened and Jack needed her.

“Max tried calling you at Steve and Bucky’s,” he explained, leading her towards the door. “We’re meeting them at the hospital.”

She faltered a step at the word hospital, because she knew what that meant. Jack was barely eighteen and healthy as a fucking horse, there was no way he’d suddenly fallen ill enough to have to go to the hospital, there’s no way he wouldn’t have called her himself if he was.

Something had happened to him, and she didn’t doubt for a second that she was to blame.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that happened. Sorry? I'll try and be speedy with the next update since I went the whole cliffhanger thing.
> 
> Once again I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has kudos'd, subscribed, commented etc. You have all been so unbelievably lovely and I seriously appreciate it a lot. It's really nice to know when something works or doesn't because I swear, I re-read most of these chapters enough that I don't think I'm using real words half of the time.
> 
> As always, this bad boy is un-beta'd so if you see any glaring errors (or large portions of text randomly inserting themselves places, thank you Fianna9 for pointing that out) feel free to let me know.


	10. Help I'm Alive, My Heart Keeps Beating Like A Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy had no idea how they got to the hospital, she wasn’t even sure at which hospital they were. There were vague flashes of sitting with Clint in the back seat of a purple car, swerving through traffic at an alarming speed. No one had said anything. Not her, not Clint, and not even the brunette who had been driving, who had merely looked at them as they slid into the back seat, arching a perfectly manicured brow over her shoulder at the pair of them before turning the radio up and speeding off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! New chapter in just over 24 hours! How exciting and wonderful! 
> 
> Ok, so that joy you are feeling due to the speedy update? I want you to hold on to that, remember it later when you're finished reading ok?
> 
> Chapter title comes from Help I'm Alive by Metric, which is the song used in the credits of Defendor for those of you playing at home. It was actually going to be the title for the story originally, but I don't know, I just really like Arthur's line "capes are for flying" for some reason.
> 
> Brief cameo by Kate Bishop because one of my regrets for this story is that I couldn't fit her in (at least in a way that would do her any justice) because she is a boss ass bitch and I love her dearly.
> 
> So... here it is?
> 
> #sorrynotsorry

Darcy had no idea how they got to the hospital, she wasn’t even sure at which hospital they were. There were vague flashes of sitting with Clint in the back seat of a purple car, swerving through traffic at an alarming speed. No one had said anything. Not her, not Clint, and not even the brunette who had been driving, who had merely looked at them as they slid into the back seat, arching a perfectly manicured brow over her shoulder at the pair of them before turning the radio up and speeding off.

Not even the weight of Clint’s hand on her knee, squeezing reassuringly every few minutes, could distract her from the constant stream of guilt running through her mind. Jack was in the hospital. _Jack was in the hospital_. And there was no way in any universe that it had nothing to do with her, that it wasn’t her fault.

When they pulled up Clint helped her get out, thanking whoever the girl was before slamming the door shut. The purple bug had already merged in with the traffic by the time Darcy realised she should have said thank you too.

After a second of just standing there, Cling wrapped his hand around her waist, giving her a gentle tug and leading her through the automatic glass doors. He did all of the talking when they were inside, asking for Jack at reception and answering whatever questions whilst she stood there silent and staring off at nothing.

_It was her fault. She did this._

They were sent straight through, riding the elevator up two floors.

_All her fault, all her fault._

When the doors opened, she stood there, not moving until Clint helped guide her out with a gentle nudge.

They found Max sitting in the crappy plastic chairs in the hallway, knees bouncing as he ran his hands up and down his thighs. He was dressed in the same jeans and hoody he’d been wearing when she met the pair of them for lunch earlier that day. Only now they were covered in dirt, grime and several dark stains that had bile rising in Darcy’s throat.

_It was all her fault._

Steve and Bucky arrived not a minute after them, the cool metal of Bucky’s left hand gently pressing against the small of her back alongside Clint’s. None of them moved for a moment, the other three waiting for Darcy to take the first step.

She didn’t need to in the end, when Max spotted the four of them he jerked to his feet.

“What happened?”

Did she just ask that? It couldn’t have been her, the voice was too calm, too even. She would have been screaming, sobbing, begging to know what was going on, not this collected façade.

There were tear-tracks drying a path through some of the dirt on Max’s face. His eyes were just that little bit too wide, too much of the white visible, and rimmed with red. She wasn’t imagining when they darted nervously around the other three before settling back on her.

“I’m waiting for an update from the doctors,” she also didn’t miss the way that he avoided answering her question, and that he only seemed to be speaking to her, eyes making another tense loop over the others.

The dread was slowly seeping its way through the rest of her, starting as an icy panic in the base of her gut but extending to her lungs and limbs. She did her best to quash it down, focusing on the three men surrounding her like a protective shield and the fact that now wasn’t the time to fall apart. Taking a breath she turned her attention back to Max.

She’d known him since he was thirteen, when his family had moved and he’d transferred into Jack’s class. She’d babysat them both on the weekends when he stayed over, the Carters going out for date night whilst she was at home with the boys, letting them eat far too much pizza and watch movies that Wendy wouldn’t approve of. She’d helped him with his English homework, watched him and Jack play hockey on the weekends. He was her brother’s best friend.

Stepping forward she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him way too tight but unable to help herself, burying her nose in the crook of his neck and breathing in the familiar scent of teenage boy hidden under the lingering aroma of city grime.

Pulling back to hold him at arm’s length she gave him a once over, noticing what looked horribly like blood drying on the back of his neck and in his hair.

“Has anyone had a look at you?” she asked seriously.

“I’m fine,” he didn’t sound fine, he sounded a little dazed and a lot shaken. “They don’t – the police are coming. I need to give a statement.”

The mention of the police sent another flash of panic through her, one that had been hardwired into her system since she was fifteen years old. It had never really gone away, the underlying fear that authority wasn’t to be trusted, which was only intensified when the jack-booted thugs in black suits came and Area 51’d their stuff in New Mexico, not to mention shipping them off during the whole New York fiasco. Even if they were the good guys in the end and she basically worked for them now.

But either way, Max shouldn’t be talking to anyone until he’d been checked over by a doctor, and she told him as much, taking him by the hand.

“Can you guys wait here?” she asked the others, and she knew she couldn’t completely keep the fear out of her eyes as she looked at them. “Just in case anything – in case they come out with more information?”

They nodded but she didn’t hang around to listen for a verbal answer, barely even pausing to give them the best attempt at a grateful smile she could manage at the moment. She led Max around the corner, vaguely thinking they needed to find a nurses’ station. The small hallway they found themselves on was practically deserted, a few empty rooms and several closed doors.

Max stopped suddenly, pulling her to the side and glancing around anxiously. She barely had time to question what was going on when he launched into speech, eyes fixed on hers. His voice was higher than usual and his breathing was too fast as he told her what had happened.

They’d stayed in the city after they’d left her at the tower, walking around for most of the afternoon. It had started to get dark, so they’d headed back to Harlem. They were walking the last stretch to his Grandparents’ house, were maybe four blocks away, when they were jumped and shoved into an alley.

Max had only seen a little bit, it was dark and it happened so quickly. He remembered catching a glimpse of a greasy looking middle-aged man and a bunch of biker looking dudes before somebody bashed him over the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

Her heart was literally trying to thrash its way out of her chest, she could feel the ice cold fear gripping every single inch of her, clawing into her skin leaving her feeling shivery and weak. Dooney. It had to be Dooney, him and whatever local gang or muscle Radovan had managed to source for him had tracked her down and then tracked Jack down.

Max, either not noticing her panic or deciding just to keep going anyway, kept talking.

He’d woken up on the ground, head feeling like it was on fire. After throwing up he’d found Jack lying a few feet away from him. He seemed ready to skip over describing what state he’d been in, but something in her eyes must have changed his mind.

Jack was unconscious, beaten and covered in blood.

He’d called out for help, nearly dragging Jack to the street and yelling until several people had rushed over. One of them had called the ambulance. He didn’t have Darcy’s number to call her, and Jack’s phone had been smashed during the attack. But he’d found the card she’d given them the first day they’d visited, the one with all of her work contact information on it, and Steve and Bucky’s home number scrawled across the back.

There was a pause, and she thought that was the end of it. They came to the hospital and he called Steve and Bucky and here they all were. But something in his eyes stopped her from suggesting they find him a doctor.

“There’s more,” her voice wasn’t accusatory, even to her own ears it sounded small and scared and filled with dread.

He nodded, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling something out.

This time her heart wasn’t trying to break through her rib cage, this time it felt like it stopped completely. It was a photograph, crumpled and dirty but still easy to recognise. Her and Jack in their mouse ears giving the camera the biggest cheesiest grins they could manage. It had been Jack’s eleventh birthday, Paul and Wendy had surprised him with a trip to Disneyland, and then they’d surprised _her_ by saying they’d bought enough tickets for her to join them.

The photo had been on the table just inside the door of her apartment the last time she’d seen it, displayed in the tacky glittery frame she’d bought at the gift shop. She’d taken that photo with her everywhere, it was one of her favourites. It had been on the desk in her dorm room at Culver, nestled on the windowsill in the tiny back office of the car dealership she had used as a bedroom in Puente Antiguo. It had come with her to Tromsø and to England, sitting proudly on the bedside table in the guest bedroom at Jane’s Mom’s house, before finally journeying with her to New York.

She hadn’t thought to take it when she fled her apartment, grabbing clothes and toiletries but none of her personal keepsakes, before fleeing in the night.

Taking it from Max she stared down at their smiling faces for a moment before flipping it over. And there, written on the back in a blocky scrawl she hated herself for recognising were six words.

_FOR KAT, CARE OF DARCY LEWIS_.

“It took it off of him before the paramedics came,” explained Max.

She couldn’t’ even form the words to ask him why he did that, how he knew to do that.

“Jack never told me about you,” his voice was quiet, and when she looked up he was staring at the ground, an uncharacteristically sad frown on his face. “Nothing specific at least. All he ever said was that you were his foster sister. He told me about Arthur, about him being friends with Mr Carter…and what happened to him. I never asked about you, but, he said that you were Arthur’s friend too, and that you needed some help after everything so his parents took you in.”

She reached out, cupping the side of his face until he looked up at her, hoping that whatever was on her face it conveyed that she wasn’t mad, at him or at Jack. It must have, because the small smile she got in return was relieved, before turning apologetic.

“I looked into it,” he admitted, struggling to meet her eye again. “Not about you, but the stuff with Arthur. Some of it I figured out on my own I guess. I still don’t really know how you fit in, but I knew that I should tell you what happened, before I talk to the police. I don’t want anything to go wrong for you because I said the wrong thing.”

The tears came out of no-where, because here he was, this hurt and rightfully terrified kid (because he was still just a kid, in so many more ways than she was ever allowed to be) who didn’t know anything about her, other than she had needed help years ago and that the Carters had given it. That Jack considered her a sister, and since he was his best friend, he felt like he needed to help too, to protect her in any way that he could.

“Thank you,” she pulled him in for another hug, hoping she could express how grateful she truly was with nothing more than how tight she held him. “I know it may not seem like it, but you probably saved his life, getting help when you did, so thank you.”

He looked equal parts embarrassed and disbelieving when she pulled away, and she didn’t miss the tears glistening in his eyelashes.

“But I need you to do me a favour.”

She hated the way that he nodded almost immediately, that he trusted her blindly, all because of Jack.

“You can tell the police what happened,” she knew he hadn’t recognised Dooney, and since everybody else assumed he was still in jail, she knew he wouldn’t make the connection. “Just stick to what you saw, physical descriptions. I’m sorry but I need you to leave me and the photo out of it.”

He nodded again, frowning but not questioning, ready to do what she asked. And if she ever felt like she deserved to die it was now.

“I’ll,” she faltered. “I’ll take care of the other stuff, ok?”

She didn’t deserve the trust he was showing in her, the way he thought she was trying to protect them all but would ultimately fix this. It was what she was going to do, she was going to protect them from this, and she was going to deal with the problem. But unlike what Max thought, she was not going to involve the police, she wasn’t going to get Dooney arrested.

“Now,” she sniffled, giving him a wet smile. “You should probably go and get that head checked out. You’re not going to be any good to anyone if you’re concussed.”

The smile didn’t come anywhere close to reaching her eyes, but then again neither did his. He refused her offer of help, telling her that he knew where the nurses’ station was.

“You should head back out to the others,” he nodded towards the hallway they’d come from. “See if there’s any news about Jack.”

When he’d disappeared around the corner she sucked in a lungful of air. And then another, and another, until she was breathing way too fast and way too loud, a constant trill of “what am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?” running through her mind as she tried to get it back under control.

Screwing her eyes shut she balled her hands into fists, managing to shove it down through sheer force of will. She would deal with it later, deal with everything later, but right now she needed to take a deep fucking breath and just focus on getting through the next two minutes. Then she could worry about the two minutes after that, and so on. One task at a time, firstly: find out what was happening with Jack.

It left her feeling a poor facsimile of calm, unable to ignore that everything was out of control, but no longer hyperventilating. She would take what she could get at this point.

“What is going on Lewis?”

She whirled around, barely biting back a scream. Bucky was standing down the hall, arms folded across his chest as he stared at her.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” her voice was about three times higher than it usually was, the panic she’d barely managed to quash returning with a vengeance. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people in hospitals! I’m going to start making all of you wear bells on every item of clothing you own so you’re not constantly using your ninja skills to give people heart attacks.”

She was babbling, no way of controlling the words pouring out of her mouth. Bucky was moving closer, slowly and inexorably and she couldn’t stop the way that she was stepping backwards, talking and talking, words just flowing without any input from her brain until her back hit the wall and she froze.

“Do you know that you have a tell?” his voice was even as he stopped in front of her, close enough that she was hard pressed to look at anything other than him.

“Tell?”

“When you’re nervous,” he explained his blue grey eyes absolutely unwavering as they stared down at her. “When you’re lying, you talk a lot. More-so than usual.”

She wasn’t scared of him, at least not in the way that suggested he would hurt her. Because even as she was getting a first-hand demonstration of what it would have been like having the Winter Soldier looming above you, knowing that there was no way to stop what was about to happen, she trusted him. He would never hurt her like that. So she wasn’t scared of him, she was scared of what was going to happen. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

“Lying?” now that she’d been called out on her so-called tell, she was barely capable of speaking at all, only managing one word answers.

“Lewis you’ve been lying through your teeth since you told me your landlord was having your apartment fumigated,” he sighed, his expression softening.

Everything stopped, the entire world zeroing down to this one moment, still and silent so that she could hear each and every second of the way her insides shattered. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

“I figured you had something going on,” his face was inscrutable, it took her a moment to realise that what she was seeing was _concern_ , and she felt like a piece of garbage for being _relieved_ that he didn’t seem to actually know. “And I didn’t blame you for not trusting me enough to share.”

And there was that stab of shame and disgust. He thought it was because of him, of who he was, that she hadn’t told him what was going on. Because she didn’t trust him.

She had never wished that she’d died with Arthur, not seriously. At the beginning she knew that it would have been simpler, but there was a part of her that would never let the thought form fully, the part that wanted to keep going, because Arthur had asked her to.

Right now? Now she wished that she had been gunned down alongside him, that she had never met Jane or come to New York. That she had never had the opportunity to make Bucky Barnes feel like he wasn’t worthy of being trusted and loved just like everyone else.

“Bucky-”

“It’s ok,” the sad smile was like twisting the knife that had buried itself in her chest. “I get it. And I know a little bit about needing a safe place to crash while you sort it out. So I didn’t push, I figured that you’d either fix it yourself or eventually realise that there are people you could ask for help.”

And she knew that he wasn’t referring to himself. Her eyes were starting to swim a little, tears collecting in her eyelashes, and she never wanted to just let it all out more than in that moment, to tell him everything and prove to him that he was wrong, and that she did trust him. Anything to remove that bruised look from his eyes.

But because she was a fucking coward, terrified of revealing the truth and having to actually admit to what she used to be, she kept her mouth shut.

Everything had gotten so messed up. She couldn’t even tell why she was lying anymore. A traitorous part of her wanted to say that she wanted to avoid the judgement and anger because of what she’d done, but she knew better than to think for a second that any one of them would judge her for her past. If anything, she’d surrounded herself with the few people on this earth most qualified to understand perfectly.

No, she wasn’t scared that they’d hate her, she was absolutely terrified that they _wouldn’t_. That they would understand and help and try to make it better. Because deep down, even after all of this time, she wasn’t really Darcy. She was still Kat, who wasn’t good for anything but her body, who didn’t deserve to be loved and forgiven.

“You can’t just ignore it anymore,” Bucky’s voice cut through her thoughts. “People are getting hurt. That kid is probably lucky if he’s ever going to walk again-”

And that was a blow low enough that for a moment the fear and panic was pushed aside completely by a flare of anger. So bright and hot that it almost smothered her guilt long enough that she came so close to slapping him.

“That kid,” she growled, entire body trembling. “Is the closest thing to a family I have _ever_ had. So you don’t have to tell me that it’s my fault he almost…”

And just like that the anger is gone, leaving her feeling empty and sick. She was crying pretty hard, caught between feeling like she was going to pass out or throw up. She wouldn’t meet his eye, all of the fight gone from her. It was exhausting, oscillating between all of these different emotions, anger, terror, hopelessness, panic, rage, nausea. She just wanted to curl into a ball, close her eyes and never get back up again.

He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a nurse striding around the corner.

“Miss Lewis?” she was a petite middle-aged woman, with sympathetic eyes and a warm voice. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. We’re having some difficulty getting a hold of Mr Carter’s parents. Mr Soto said that you were Mr Carter’s sister and could maybe help us with some insurance forms?”

She pushes past Bucky, practically running over to the nurse and trying to wipe the tears from her face. She could feel the way his shoulders tensed, like he wanted to reach out and physically stop her. But he wouldn’t in front of a civilian, and she took advantage of that, following the nurse towards the desk. Anything to escape what could potentially be her downfall.

Filling out the paperwork mechanically, she used her insurance information because Stark Industries had an amazing health benefits package and the feeling that she wasn’t ever going to need it was starting to solidify in her mind. Nodding when the nurse told her the doctors had finished with Jack and that they could see him one at a time if they wanted, she turned towards the hallway where everyone else was waiting.

When she got there she stopped, far enough away that none of them noticed her. Sam, Thor and Jane had joined Clint and Steve. Bucky had returned as well, standing to the side and listening but not joining in as Steve and Clint no doubt caught everyone up on what was going on. Briefly she wondered who called them and when.

It was the realisation that they weren’t there for her, not really, that stopped her from going over to them. They were there for Darcy, for who they thought Darcy was.

Standing there were Darcy’s friends, the greatest people she knew, earth’s mightiest heroes. And who was she? A murderer and a liar who had done nothing but put them at risk just by being near them. Not their lives, the majority of them were pretty much indestructible, but their reputation. What happened to them when the rest of the world found out about her? Immediately she tasted that for the falsehood it was. She was worried about what would happen to _her_.

Her whole plan had revolved around pretending everything was fine for as long as possible, making the most of what little time she had left, maybe doing something good with it. But the whole point of lying had been to keep everyone else out of this, to keep them as far away and in the dark as she possibly could. Now Jack was caught in the crosshairs, all because she was a coward who had tried to put this off.

Not anymore.

Part of her wished that she could say goodbye to the others, talk to them one last time. But there was no way of doing that without at least one of them (if not all of them) figuring out something was up.

Jack was asleep when she slipped silently into his room. Looking more like the ten year old he was when she first met him than the eighteen year old he’d grown into. He looked tiny, lying amongst all of the white hospital linen, with tubes sticking out of him and the soft beeping of his heart monitor echoing slightly in the stark room.

His face was pale and wan, his right eye swollen enough that she was sure even if he was awake he wouldn’t be able to open it all the way and bruised a deep purple. His lip was busted, there were grazes on his cheek and a deep cut had been sewn shut on his forehead. His left leg was raised up on some pillows, wrapped in a fresh cast, and she had to bite back a sob at the sight. His entire body was a canvas of cuts scrapes and bruises, several of his fingers were taped together and the bruising on the back of his hand suggested it was because someone had stomped on it.

There was a flash where she could see Arthur there, the image imposing itself over reality, arm in a cast and neck in a brace as he lay unconscious. She was such a coward, only ever able to say goodbye to people when they were in hospital after she’d nearly gotten them killed.

Gently she brushed some hair back from his forehead, the only part of his face that wasn’t covered in bruises. His eyes fluttered open as she was about to speak, taking a moment to focus on anything and then another before he seemed to recognise what he was seeing.

“Darcy…”

“Hey Jack,” she continued to gently stroke his hair.

“You’re here,” he smiled, voice heavy as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Glancing up at the IV bag attached to his arm she was glad that they seemed to be pumping him full of morphine; that he wasn’t in any pain.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart,” he voice cracked. “This never should have happened to you.”

His movements were slow as he frowned, another moment passing before he managed to get his eyes open again. This time they focused on her much more easily, and she could tell that he was slowly fighting to be more alert.

“Got mugged…” he mumbled. “S’not your fault.”

“It really is,” she chuckled, wet and completely humourless.

He blinked a few more times as she continued to pet his hair, not even trying not to cry anymore, just letting the tears flow. No one in her life deserved to have this happen, but a selfish part of her wished, in that moment, that it had been anyone but him.

She hadn’t lied to Bucky, he was the closest thing to a family she had, more so than his parents had ever been. She couldn’t remember loving someone as much as she loved him. Arthur maybe, but their time together had been cut short, she never really got to know what it would be like to really call him family. She’d watched Jack grow, years of witnessing him turn into the incredible human being he was now.

“I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t face this earlier. Guess I’m not brave like you.”

His face pinched in confusion, frowning up at her.

“You’re here because of me,” she admitted, hating herself. “Because of what I did. The only reason Dooney would even look twice at you is me.”

Jack blinked again, face morphing into a mixture of recognition, anger and worry. Immediately she knew that she’d said too much.

“Dooney?”

“Sh, sweetheart, you’re ok,” she soothed. “You’re safe here, he’s never going to touch you again.”

“Darcy,” she could recognise the fear in his voice, and part of her knew it wasn’t because he was scared Dooney was going to break into the hospital and finish the job.

“I’m going to make it right.”

“Make it…?” she could see the second the realisation worked its way past his drug addled state, eyes snapping to her. “Darcy, no.”

“I’m sorry,” she was outright bawling now, stepping away from him even as he tried to reach for her, his movements slow and sluggish.

“No,” his voice was getting stronger. “Don’t…”

“I love you,” she had to say it, because if there was one thing she wanted him to know, here and now at the end, it was that.

She was almost to the door when his heart monitors started to go haywire. Worried, she spun back around. He was trying to get out of bed, struggling against the tubes and wires stuck to him and unable to move his leg. Part of her wanted to go back, to soothe him and tell him she wasn’t going to do anything, get him to go back to sleep. But a bigger part of her knew that it wouldn’t work, he knew her better than anyone and would see through the lie in a heartbeat.

He was talking, she realised after a moment, saying something repeatedly. She could barely hear it over the beeping from the surrounding machines. The second she made it out though she knew it was time to go. He was calling for Steve, trying to raise the alarm.

Slipping out of his room she pulled the door shut quietly behind her. Casting a glance over at the others she paused for one last second. Tony and Natasha were there now as well, all eight of them deep in conversation. It was stupid, she only had moments before one of the super soldier’s enhanced ears picked up on Jack trying to call for them. But she just wanted one last look, one last memory of them all together. She took a deep breath, silently begging for forgiveness, before walking quickly but calmly over to a fire exit in the opposite direction.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, Darcy was running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I will be able to get the next chapter up soon, not as soon as this because this is what I did last night when my body refused to let me sleep (sleep is for the weak) and I really cant afford to do that again. 
> 
> It should, by this point, go without saying that this is a story without beta and that all of the errors belong to me. As always, fell free to point them out. Thanks again for all of the love and comments and kudos, you guys have been nothing but lovely and supportive throughout this whole thing. Clearly it would be understandable if that were to change after what I just did, but that's cool too.


	11. These Chains Never Leave Me, I Keep Dragging Them Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky swore loudly. Because of course, of course, she went to go and see Jack before taking off. He had done the same thing, before he’d left to rip whatever was left of Hydra to shreds and burn the pieces, he’d gone to see Steve.
> 
> He couldn’t risk actually speaking to him, because once Steve had him he wouldn’t have let go. But he’d needed to get one last look. 
> 
> “She went to say goodbye,” he growled in explanation to the five pairs of eyes fixed on him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update, real life, son of a bitch that it is, has been getting in the way.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Delilah" by Florence + the Machine. Darcy makes reference to Harry Potter towards the end, which I don't own. Much like I don't own anything Marvel, Defendor, or apparently my own soul. Please don't sue me.

Bucky noticed there was something wrong with Steve before he actually heard anything. It had always been that way, he could remember it more easily now. Back before the war he had always been acutely aware of where Steve was, what Steve was doing. He would always notice immediately when Steve left a room to “take this outside” and sure enough, nine times out of ten he would find Steve getting the snot kicked out of him in an alley-way behind a building.

Now that his senses were enhanced, his situational awareness operating at above normal rates, he would always sense a change in Steve before anything else.

So he was immediately aware of it when the blond’s head popped up, tilting towards the doorway down the hall. There was a fraction of a second where a frown pinched up his brow and then he was moving, Bucky automatically following even before he heard the voice weakly calling Steve’s name.

Steve didn’t even hesitate at the door to see whose room it was, there was only one person they knew in the hospital who would be calling his name. When they got inside it was to find Jack trying to crawl out of bed, even though the wires hooking him up to various machines were straining and his leg was broken.

He was still weakly calling for Steve, unable to stifle the sharp cries of pain. His heart monitor was going berserk, beeping loudly as he fought with the sheets covering him. His face was betraying how much the effort cost him, screwed up and beaded with sweat.

Steve was already trying to push him back into bed, hands gently holding his shoulders and attempting to lay him down. The kid had a surprisingly strong grip on the front of Steve’s shirt, knuckles white as he fought to stay upright.

Behind him Bucky could hear the others filing into the room, trying to see what the hell was going on. Steve was trying to soothe Jack, who was refusing to lay still.

“No – You have to – she’s-”

There was more movement in the doorway behind him, and he turned to see a stern-faced nurse pushing her way through the crowd of Avengers.

“What on earth is going on?”

“He was trying to get up when we came in,” Steve explained helplessly, attempting to pry Jack’s hands from his t-shirt without hurting him any further.

The nurse bustled over to check the monitors, allowing Steve to continue his attempts to get the kid to lie down, before administering something in his IV. Whatever it was it was fast working, the fight draining out of him almost immediately.

Jack was still trying to talk though, mumbling almost unintelligibly, “Kat – Darcy... y’have to… she’s gonnna…”

It wasn’t until Bucky made out those words that he realised that Darcy was not in the room, in fact she was nowhere in sight. Through the still open door he had a direct eye-line to where the nurse’s station was just a little ways down the hall. There’s no-one there, certainly not a Darcy-shaped someone who should have been filling out forms if she wasn’t in here. In fact he finds it hard to believe that she wouldn’t have noticed all the commotion in Jack’s room, not to mention the very familiar group of people half in it.

And just like that he knew, much like he could always tell with Steve, that she wasn’t here, that she had gone off to do something stupid.

The panic was already flowing freely when the nurse asked them to leave and let Jack sleep for a bit, pieces of the last few weeks slotting in place. The fact that she hadn’t been sleeping at all while she’d being staying with them; that she lied about why she needed to in the first place. Her increasing jumpiness, how she was always on edge. In the hall earlier, that she thought it was her fault, like whoever had done this had done so because of her.

And now she’d run off to find whoever that was.

One of the things Bucky loved about his entire social circle being made up of geniuses, spies, and superheroes was that they were all really fucking smart. The group as a whole seemed to have put together that Darcy was not in the vicinity at the same moment that he had.

Jane already had her cell-phone pressed to her ear, blatant concern written on her face as she waited for the call to connect. Bucky could tell the second she got nothing but the pre-recorded message for Darcy’s voicemail, her expression sinking a half a second before she told the rest of the group, “she’s got it turned off.”

“That’s ok,” Tony pulled his own cell out, thumbs flying as he spoke. “I can get Jarvis to track it.”

“What the hell is going on?” Clint didn’t sound confused, in fact, it was barely a question.

He knew that Clint had as much of this figured out as he did, if not more. Out of all of them, apart from the fact that she was living with him and Steve, Clint probably saw her the most, the pair of them sneaking around the tower when she was at work like nobody had noticed.

But a hospital was hardly the place for that conversation, and he knew the archer was merely letting his frustration out the only way he could right now.

“Son of a-” Tony cursed. “She’s disabled the bug in her Stark phone that makes it possible to track it even if it’s switched off.”

The fact that nobody was going to start lecturing Tony about maybe not bugging peoples’ phones so that he could track them at any time emphasised how worried they all were. Bucky could see it in everyone’s faces, the way that they all had _known_ that something was off with her, but hadn’t quite guessed what.

“We have to find her,” Jane looked around at all of them.

“There’s little we can do here,” Natasha’s face was in full blown Widow Mode. “We’ll have to head back to the tower.”

“Someone needs to stay here with the boys,” Steve glanced worriedly back at the door leading to Jack’s room.

“Thor and I can stay,” Jane volunteered immediately. “I’ve already met the Carters and I’ll be able to talk to Max when he’s done with the Doctor, see if he knows anything.”

The other thing Bucky loved about his entire social circle being made up of geniuses, spies, and superheroes was that they knew what to do in a crisis. As if silently triggered they all turned and headed to their cars, Bucky and Steve sliding into the back of Natasha’s car (having caught a cab to the hospital) whilst Clint got in the front and Sam rode with Tony. None of them spoke as they did, just automatically and with military precision dividing between the two vehicles.

Bucky made eye contact with Clint over the top of Natasha’s car, seeing the same naked worry he’s sure was plastered all over his own face.

_Darcy Lewis, what the hell are you doing?_

The ride was silent, all of them staring out their respective windows. Steve reached over half-way through the journey to lace his fingers through Bucky’s and Bucky gave him a grateful squeeze in return, but it wasn’t enough to dull the increasing anxiety coursing through his veins.

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator, rocketing towards the top floor that the panic kicked into overdrive. He realised with a sinking dread, just how little he could offer to help. Once again he was hit with the realisation that he knew almost nothing about Darcy.

Where did she grow up? What were her parents like? What did they do before they died? Did she still have friends from college? He knew nothing except for anything after she became Jane’s intern.

Tony and Sam had beaten them to the Tower, Tony was already in the centre of the room, one of his enormous virtual displays hovering before him as he sifted through what looked like – to Bucky at least – a lot of incomprehensible techno babble.

Bucky used to be good at this. Getting information, profiling targets, tracking them. Even before his time with the Russians. HYDRA however never saw the need to utilize his skills, choosing to do the recon themselves and he just shot at what they pointed to.

For the last few decades he’d been little more than a weapon and an attack dog. He’d never had to track a target during the age of the internet. He was better suited than most to adapting, he and Steve both trying to catch up to the rest of the world. But since he wasn’t cleared for active missions yet his use of computers had been limited to browsing the internet.

The second they piled out of the elevators Tony was talking.

“I’ve got Jarvis tracking her credit cards,” he explained, not even pausing to look at them. “She’s not trained in espionage like most of you so maybe she’ll slip up and use one to pay for a cab or something. He’s also using the old GPS data from her phone to compile a list of the places she’s been to in the last few weeks, maybe somewhere hinky will pop up.”

“What about surveillance?” Natasha stepped forward, scrolling through a list that had appeared to Tony’s right. “Can you hack into any security feeds in the city based on how far she could have gotten in the last forty minutes?”

“It’ll take some time,” he was already waving his hands, images from various cameras materializing in front of them. “Some of them will be a little tricky to get access to. Doing all of this at once is going to slow Jarvis down.”

“I’ll call Coulson,” she was already pulling out her cell. “See if he can spare Skye to run facial recognition. No offense but SHIELD will be able to cut through a lot more of the red tape faster.”

Tony just nodded and waved his hand in a “carry on” kind of gesture before turning back to the text scrolling in front of him, not even arguing his capabilities over SHIELD’s.

“Jarvis can focus on the GPS and the credit cards then. Meanwhile,” he turned around to face the rest of them. “We need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

There’s a moment of silence where they stared at each other, either not having anything to offer, or, like Bucky, not knowing where to start. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable in group situations. Sure he was happy to have dinner and watch movies with all of them, but only when Steve was there to take the edge off. He didn’t mind sparring or joking around, but that was usually in smaller groups, one or two at a time.

They were his friends, at least he considered them his friends, but it was hard to see them like this, all together as the Avengers, and not feel like the odd man out. They were Steve’s. The Commandoes were Steve’s too, his hand-picked team, but they were Bucky’s friends and comrades first. With them he never felt like he was only hanging around because of Steve, only included because Steve was.

But if there was ever a time to ignore his own insecurities, it was now. They didn’t have much of it to spare, Darcy didn’t have much time to spare.

So he cleared his throat, refusing to let himself flinch when every set of eyes locked onto him immediately and explained.

Starting with what most of them already knew, he pointed out how she’d been behaving recently. He could see the recognition and agreement on their faces as he described how skittish Darcy had become, the way that she hadn’t been sleeping.

Tony was the only one who interrupted, and only to point out that she’d started smoking again, briefly explaining what Jane had already told him about her quitting. But when he was done he looked back to Bucky, falling silent and nodding for him to continue.

So Bucky did, this time going into detail over the conversation that he’d overheard her having with Max at the hospital. His admittance that he only caught the tail end, notably Darcy’s desire to “keep her and the photo” out of whatever Max was going to tell the police.

“I didn’t have a chance to grab it,” he frowned. “By the time I was asking her what the hell was going on she got called away by a nurse to fill out forms. That’s the last time I saw her.”

“So she took off after she spoke to the nurse?” Steve looked around at all of them, silently asking for their input.

“No,” Clint piped up. “She went and saw the kid first, he’s the one that told us she was gone.”

And Bucky swore loudly. Because of course, _of course_ , she went to go and see Jack before taking off. Because she thought it was her fault and she had to see him one last time before she went to face her perceived punishment. He had done the same thing, before he’d left to rip whatever was left of Hydra to shreds and burn the pieces, he’d gone to see Steve.

He couldn’t risk actually speaking to him, because once Steve had him he wouldn’t have let go. But he’d needed to get one last look. The kind of mission he had been ready to set out for, alone and without much in the way of resources, was the kind of mission it had been very likely he wouldn’t have come back from.

“She went to say goodbye,” he growled in explanation to the five pairs of eyes fixed on him again.

“She knows who did this,” it was Clint who spoke, but he could see the realisation on everyone.

Of course she did, she’d basically admitted as much when she told him it was her fault that Jack was in the hospital.

“Right,” called Tony impatiently. “She knew the attacker, gone to confront them, we’re a magnet for self-sacrificing idiots. That still doesn’t tell us where she would have gone.”

“Ok,” nodded Steve, using his Captain voice. “So we work our way backwards, is there anything in her past that might be coming back to bite her?”

Clint had opened his mouth to speak, the only one out of all of them who seemed to have any information on her history, but Jarvis interrupted him.

“Sir,” his cool British accent rang out. “The only information I am able to find on Miss Lewis is no earlier than 2006, and even then it is only her application to Culver. There is no information in regards to her being a part of the foster care system.”

“That can’t be right,” Clint was frowning, he stepped forward to examine the holographic display. “Trust me, the System fucks up a lot, but never when it comes to filing.”

The sound of ringing cuts off any further discussion, Tony waving a hand impatiently causing Jane’s face to appear before them.

“I talked to Max,” she didn’t even bother with a greeting. “He doesn’t know much. All Jack ever said to him about Darcy was that her and her friend had been in trouble and the Carters took her in when the friend died. Some guy called Arthur.”

“That still doesn’t help us find-”

“Max thinks he might know the guy who attacked them,” she steamrolled over Tony. “Or one of them at least. Chuck Dooney, apparently he’s an ex-cop.”

Tony was already searching the second Jane told them his name. There were more windows popping up everywhere, photos of a middle aged, slightly balding man who didn’t seem to shave regularly. A portrait of him in a blue beat cop’s uniform, a mug shot of him with pale waxy looking skin holding a sign with his name and a number on it.

Other windows were filling with text, Bucky made out one that he recognised as a rap sheet, a laundry list of crimes ranging from assault to drug trafficking and everything in between. He’d been sentenced to twenty-six years behind bars.

Bucky’s eyes flicked over all of it, mechanically reading through everything, mentally noting names that pooped up regularly. He learnt all about Radovan Kristic’s empire, the Maldovan Mafioso who ran everything from drugs to guns to women. He read about Sgt Chuck Dooney of the Toronto PD, a detective working for the drug squad who not only stole contraband to fuel his own habit but was well under Radovan’s thumb. He could see spelled out in the dry tone used by most officials in their reports the ties to prostitution, the connections with various biker gangs, and the string of bodies that were left behind.

Radovan Kristic and Sgt Chuck Dooney met their downfall at the hands of a man who called himself Defendor. An amateur vigilante who led the police right to them during the arrival of a massive shipments of guns, drugs and girls. Radovan had been deported, shipped back to his home country where his connections had no doubt kept him from seeing time behind bars. Chuck Dooney had been sentenced to 26 years, all because of a man who wanted to be a hero.

“I remember this,” Tony was clicking his fingers and pointing to the blown up photo of a man in a black helmet with paint smeared across his eyes. “This guy! It was about a decade ago, huge news, for Canada at least. He was dressing up like a superhero and patrolling the streets at night, looking to take down some massive smuggling ring.”

“Looks like he did,” Clint was reading through an article detailing Radovan Kristic’s arrest and subsequent deportation.

“Yeah but at what cost?” asked Sam, pulling an article to the forefront.

_DEFENDOR’S LAST STAND_

Bucky barely got to the bi-line, his eyes going straight to where the reporter’s name would be listed, only to see a name that he didn’t recognise, but was familiar all the same, _Katerina Debrofkowitz._

“Kat!” he yelled, only to have them all staring at him again.

“Jack said it,” he explained. “Earlier when he was trying to tell us she’d gone he said Kat and then switched to Darcy, like he’d made a mistake.”

“And what?” asked Tony, tone disbelieving. “You’re saying that this random writer is actually Lewis, she just changed her name?”

“She told me she was minoring in Journalism at Culver,” Clint chimed in, frowning at the name on the projection. “Said she was going to be a political consultant.”

“But why change her name?” asked Sam.

“Makes sense to me,” Natasha shrugged. “She just helped someone destroy an entire crime family, and look what happened to him.”

Bucky glanced back at the article, the large photo of a wall, painted with an image of Defendor and the command to “fight back”. Beneath it were dozens of wreaths and bunches of flowers. Even in the grainy newspaper photgraph he could make out candles and stuffed animals, children’s drawings stuck against the concrete.

“J, what can you dig up on this Katerina Debrofkowitz?” Tony called out.

There was a moment of silence before Jarvis answered, “Nothing Sir.”

“What?” Natasha took half a step forward, eyes looking at the holographic displays.

“I am unable to locate any birth records, school records or any other documentation regarding Katerina Debrofkowitz. I can detect traces of tampering with the databases but nothing further.”

“But who would-?” Steve didn’t get to finish, Tony cutting him off as he typed angrily on a projection of a keyboard that had appeared at his fingertips.

“Are you trying to tell me that she just hacked into government files-”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” supplied Jane from where she was still projected.

“-erased herself from existence, assumed a false identity real enough to get her into one of the best colleges in the country, and has been living like that since she was seventeen? And no one in SHIELD or HYDRA or whoever they were managed to pick up on that?”

No one gave him an answer, and Bucky could tell he wasn’t really asking for one. This was just Tony’s way of expressing his frustration that there was very little he could do about it, at the same time as being impressed that she’d achieved such a feat in the first place.

“Sir,” Jarvis interrupted. “There is an arrest report for Mr Arthur Poppington – also known as the vigilante Defendor – that makes mention of a David Debrofkowitz.”

“Bring it up.”

The information appeared in front of everything else, as Jarvis recited the pertinent facts.

“Mr Poppington was placed under arrest for the assault of Mr David Debrofkowitz in his place of business. Mr Poppington struck Mr Debrofkowitz several times before depositing him into a waste receptacle. Sealed files from the court-appointed psychologist brought in to assess Mr Poppington state that Mr Poppington did not deny attacking Mr Debrofkowitz, doing so because he believed that Mr Debrofkowitz knew that he was garbage.

“Dr Park’s notes make mention of Mr Poppington discovering that Mr Debrofkowitz had sexually assaulted his daughter and potentially other unnamed minors. She suggested further investigation but no charges were ever laid against Mr Debrofkowitz.”

Something cold felt like it was sliding down Buck’s spine, settling hard and heavy in the pit of his stomach. _Sexually assaulting his daughter. David Debrofkowitz. Katerina Debrofkowitz. Kat. Darcy._ Her similarities with him when it came to agency and controlling her body. The way he’d noticed she was only physically affectionate when she was the one who initiated it. All of the information was slotting into place, and he did not like the picture it was painting.

Everyone was looking the same mix of horrified and angry. Clint had his hands clenched so tightly into fists that they were shaking. Steve looked like he wanted to throw up. Sam had his stoic counsellor expression on, the one he wore when he heard the indescribably awful things that had happened to people, when he wanted them to know how sorry he was but didn’t want them to think he was pitying them.

Natasha’s expression was the most neutral, serious but not affected to anyone who didn’t know her. But there had been a short time in his past when all he knew was Natasha, was Natalia, and he could see the way the tightness around her eyes and the clench of her jaw betrayed her rage.

Tony looked about two seconds away from summoning one of his suits and tracking Mr Debrofkowitz down. Unclenching his jaw, he was the first to speak. “We need to find her. This Dooney asshole has lured her somewhere and we still don’t know where-”

Tony was interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s phone ringing. He jumped, reaching into his pocket and readying to ignore the call when the music registered. Darcy had played around with both his and Steve’s phones when she’d first moved in, messing with their backgrounds and setting personalized rings for all of their contacts.

She’d set it so that “Boss Ass Bitch” would play whenever she called him, and looking down he can see the selfie of the two of them together wearing identical I♥NY t-shirts, the hearts coloured to look like Steve’s shield, her arm flung around his neck, their faces were pressed together, both wearing stupid expressions, flashing across the screen bellow her name.

*

Darcy didn’t actually know where she was going. She had no way of finding Dooney and no clue where to start. The second she was outside she jumped into the first cab that she saw and told the driver to floor it. She wanted to put as much distance between her and the hospital as she possibly could, compulsively checking out the rear window, half expecting to see the Avengers running after the car.

The driver was giving her the side eye in his rear-view mirror but – like a true New York cabbie – seemed to know better than to say anything, choosing to keep going without comment ready to do whatever she needed as long as she paid.

They’d been circling pointlessly, her sitting in the back trying to get her breathing back under control and figure out what the _hell she was going to do._

Ok, Logic. Dooney wanted her to find him, he wanted her to track him down, to know that no matter where she went, what she called herself, she would always end up crawling back to him to take the pain away. The only clue that he’d left so far was the photo, which he’d gone out of his way to steal from her apartment and then give to her. She gave the cabbie her address, paying him with the last of the cash in her wallet.

Half of her was expecting him to be waiting inside, that this was it. But a bigger part of her knew that it wasn’t true, he wouldn’t end it here. She didn’t spare a glance for the words still painted on the wall, going straight to the table in the hallway where the photo was from. Inside the frame was a scrap of paper with an address written on it.

She didn’t know if it had always been there, if the photo had been missing since he’d broken in. Dooney was arrogant enough to leave a calling card, letting Darcy know where he would be from the beginning. She hated that she was that predictable, that he could tell, even after all of this time, that she wouldn’t tell anybody, wouldn’t call the cops when her apartment had been broken into. That he knew she would have to come to him eventually.

Maybe it had been there the entire time, and she had been too distracted by the graffiti to notice. Either way it didn’t matter, she knew where she had to go now.

She recognized the street name, it was within walking distance. There was very little point in putting it off, even though her self-preservation instincts were screaming for her to just stay here, hide herself away for the rest of her life. Still, she took a minute to look around, trying to draw comfort from the junk littering her shelves instead of letting it convince her to stay.

There were a lot of photos, most of them from the last few years. Pictures of her and Jane in London, cheesy tourist shots with Royal Guards and at the base of Big Ben. The snap she’d taken of Thor on her phone in the diner was next to a group shot of them with Eric and Ian, smiling brightly through a mouthful of pancakes because she’d held something in front of his face and told him to.

Taking what she was trying to convince herself was a steadying breath she pulled the door shut behind her for the last time, not even bothering to lock it. There wasn’t much of value inside, and the rent was paid through til the end of the month. A small part of her hoped that if anyone did break in, they found something they could use to make their life a little easier.

Brooklyn was absolutely freezing at this time of night, the cold seeping into her bones and making her shiver. She felt detached, aware of the way her body trembled but not bothered by it. The part of her brain responsible for the stupid shit that usually came out of her mouth was trying to distract her with awful gallows humour. Because this was it, she was going to die.

_I am going to die_.

But unlike Harry Potter, she wasn’t doing it for the good of mankind. She wasn’t out to save the whole world, just her world. Yes, she wanted to protect her friends, her family, but this had always been about protecting her, at least the way that they saw her.

Also unlike Harry, she didn’t have the comfort of her lost loved ones walking with her, telling her that it was going to be ok and that they’d be together soon. Protecting her from her own thoughts. No one had ever protected Kat, not until Arthur. If she deserved to ask for anything right now, it would be to have him here, telling her in his child-like way that it was going to be ok, that bad guys don’t win.

But she didn’t deserve to ask for anything, she was never brave like him. The one comfort that she had taken from his death was that she’d been able to say goodbye. He was the first person she ever loved, wholly and fully without any complication. He was like her brother, her best friend, the father she never had, and the partner she never deserved.

She couldn’t ever know if he knew that, but a part of her hoped that in his last moments, he could see that even if he hadn’t saved the whole world, he had saved her.

She didn’t get to say goodbye before, that last glimpse barely doing anything to soothe the ache inside of her telling her she’d never see or speak to these people again. And like that she wants to, to let them know that they did save her, they saved Darcy.

It was so much easier to pull out her phone and turn it on, knowing that they weren’t there to physically stop her.

“Tell me where you are,” his voice was hard and commanding.

“Hey Bucky,” the wet laugh that left her throat was strangled, the control she’d managed to gain weakening at the sound of his voice.

“Tell me where you are Lewis,” he growled. “Right now.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she sighed.

“Please-”

She hated the way his voice broke, the desperation and pleading pushing through.

“You’ve been hanging around self-sacrificing superheroes long enough to know what’s going on.”

“Darcy _please_ ,” he wasn’t even trying to keep his voice firm and commanding anymore. “We can help you.”

“I know you want to,” she was crying, and the hiccoughing sound on the other end of the line told her Bucky might be as well. “But believe me when I tell you I don’t deserve it.”

The sob she heard almost shattered her resolve, hating that she was the reason that broken sound had come from him.

“This is something that I need to make right,” she wasn’t crying anymore, a numbing sort of determination flowing through her, a calming acceptance. She was doing the right thing.

“I don’t deserve to ask for anything,” she ignored him saying her name once more, tone pleading. “But I need you to do something for me.”

“Please,” he was begging. “Just tell me what is going on.”

“I’m not a good person,” she smiled to herself, sad and self-deprecating. “Not really. I don’t know how much you guys have figured out but… Before Darcy, I did some awful things. Can you… I just… I want to die as Darcy Lewis.”

The sound he let out when she said die was like a wounded animal, quiet and broken and filled with pain.

“Darcy was good and did the right thing. She never killed or hurt anyone. This is my last request I guess. I’m asking you guys to let it go, to not look for me or dig any deeper. I’m sorry for the lies and I’m sorry I got any of you anywhere near this. But, please, can you just let me die as Darcy?”

She can hear him crying over the line, there are voices in the background too, muffled so that she can’t tell who else is there. She knew she was out of time, that they were probably trying to track her, to save her, like the heroes they would always be.

“I love you,” she had to say it, before it was too late. “And I’m sorry.”

“No!” he yelled. “Darcy, please don’t-”

She hung up, hastily switching the phone off. Digging her nails into the side she pulled the sim out of the slot, dropping the phone to the ground and stomping on it for good measure. Scooping up the shards of glass and electronics she dumped what was left into a nearby trash can, ignoring the sting in her nails and the way her fingers were bleeding.

For a full minute she just stood there, staring at the ugly metal, dented and with graffiti on the side, and breathing heavily. She didn’t doubt that they would still try, still search desperately until they found her. But she knew it would be too late, and now at least she could hope that they wouldn’t keep digging, that they could hold onto Darcy and never learn the truth about Kat. And if they did, well, it was more than she deserved.

Staring up at the moon she smiled, watching as a cloud passed so that it was shining full and bright upon her.

“See you soon Arthur,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are only three full chapters and an epilogue after this. I'm going to start working on the next chapter this afternoon as soon as I've posted this one. As my plans for tomorrow night involve watching Captain America and shouting Caw Caw Motherfucker at random intervals I can hopefully smash some more out then too. (Happy Fourth of July to all of you delightful yanks)
> 
> Comments, Kudos and other such fun are always appreciated, even if it is only to point out that I can't spell or maintain the correct tense half of the time. Thanks as always to those of you who have already said hello throughout.


	12. Live Through This and You Won't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two sets of hands grabbed her and dragged her roughly to her feet. She couldn’t recognise any of the thugs milling about (more than a dozen of them) and briefly wondered if there was some sort of discount warehouse where mob bosses could go to get B-grade movie muscle for bulk prices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter has some graphic depictions of violence. Like that's basically what the majority of it is. If that's something you are triggered by I would say just don't read it. I don't want to mess anyone up.
> 
> Title from "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" by Stars.
> 
> So yes, I'm just going to leave this here and back away slowly. Please don't hate me.

Prison had not been kind to former Sgt Chuck Dooney. He looked much older than the eight years since she’d last seen him warranted. His skin was pale and waxy, a sallow kind of grey colour, gaunt and stretched over the bones in his face. More of his hair is flecked with grey and white, thinner on top that it used to be. His eyes were just as sunken as they’d always been, the bruise-like shadows below them as dark as hers had once been.

He had been waiting for her, just like she knew that he would be.

She had been able to walk straight past the two goons waiting outside, ignoring their smirks as they stomped on their cigarette butts and followed her, sliding the large metal roller door shut behind them. She flinched, partly from the sound of the screeching metal, but mostly from the satisfied smirk Dooney had fixed her with, he had not doubted for a second that she would show.

There hadn’t been a reason for him to doubt after all. He’d found a weak spot to jab his knife and twist until she’d had very little choice but to crumble to his will.

There was no way that she would be lucky enough to have him just straight up shoot her and put her out of her misery. That would be too quick and easy. She could see it in his eyes, the sick and twisted gleam that told her she would suffer until her last breath. The only comfort she had was that it would be her doing the suffering and not anyone else.

Darcy Lewis or Katerina Debrofkowitz, whatever she was calling herself, she had never been the self-sacrificing sort. She didn’t want to die and she had absolutely no love for pain. But she had spent enough time around people like Arthur, and the Avengers that it was bound to rub off at some point.

The only hope she had was to keep her reactions to a minimum, that he’d eventually get bored and end it.

“As always,” he was sauntering toward her slowly, it took everything she had not to shiver. “You just can’t seem to stay away.”

“Like you gave me much of a choice.”

The back-hand was to be expected, her tone had been dripping with her trademark scorn. Sass in the face of danger? Still her thing.

It was not the first time she’d been smacked around like that, but Dooney wasn’t holding back and she knew it would only get worse from that point forward. The force of the blow was enough to knock her off of her feet, pain reverberated through her entire jaw and made her eyes water.

For a minute she lay there, the sting settling into her cheekbone as she blinked back the liquid pooling in her eyes. She wasn’t crying, though she didn’t doubt he would do his best to make her at some point.

Two sets of hands grabbed her and dragged her roughly to her feet. She couldn’t recognise any of the thugs milling about (more than a dozen of them) and briefly wondered if there was some sort of discount warehouse where mob bosses could go to get B-grade movie muscle for bulk prices.

She couldn’t deny that a tiny part of her had been worried that Barney would be there. Not that she thought his presence would benefit her at all. There would be little he could do to help her, he was in just as deep if not deeper than she had been, and all it would get them both was dead. If anything she was relieved when she couldn’t make out his face amongst the men milling about, unable to help all he would have had to offer was his concern and understanding. And the last thing she could handle right now was an empathetic gaze.

One of the thugs had a fistful of her hair, sharply pulling her head back so that she was forced to look at Dooney. Watching him walk towards her she felt a stab of savage pleasure. There was something stilted about his gait, not quite a limp, but not the swagger she remembered. And she did that to him. She wondered if it still hurt.

“You even dressed up,” he fingered the collar of her jacket. “Made yourself pretty for me.”

She was still wearing her date outfit, the tight black dress and boots, her leather jacket and dark scarlet lipstick.

“Trust me honey,” he whispered, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath washing hot over her face. “This is one time where being nice will get you nowhere.”

She could smell it, the cloying chemical aroma that had dictated the majority of her life before saturated his breath, triggering the memories of feeling light and invincible, the power and pleasure flowing through her veins in a warm and soothing rush.

He nodded to the guys holding her. There was a flurry of movement which she didn’t fight. Eyes shut and hanging limply she let herself be stripped, her hands tied together with what felt like a coarse rope before being hung suspended in the air. Her feet are tied down together, toes barely touching the ground. She almost let out a hysterical laugh at the cliché.

Opening her eyes she was met with the sight of Dooney circling around her, the goons spread out gazing at her with varying shades of excitement and hunger. She just hung there, barely swaying they’d pulled the bonds so tight. A dull ache was settling into her shoulders, and she was shivering slightly, practically naked, with nothing but her underwear to shield her from the icy air. Dooney stopped before her, eyes locked onto hers as his breath came out in heavy pants.

Part of her wanted to shrink from the way his eyes dragged over her, feeling it on her like he was dragging something cold and vile across her skin. It had been years since she’d felt ashamed of her body, wanting nothing more than to hide herself under layers of bright and ugly sweaters until no one looked at her like that again.

She’d worked her way past it, after the disaster of her coping methods through college she’d found herself in a place where she was comfortable in her skin, where she liked that people found her attractive and no longer felt like they all wanted to take something from her, that there was little else she could offer.

With one sweeping gaze he tore through that as easily as if it were tinfoil, stripping her back to that scared confused girl that she had spent so much time being.

Slowly he moved forward, reaching out to run his fingers along her cheek. She couldn’t control the way her head jerked to the side, twitching away from the cold touch. He snarled, grabbing the hair at the back of her neck and pulling her face towards him.

“You’re going to regret what you did to me,” he growled, tugging on her hair roughly enough that she couldn’t fight the wince.

And with that he let go, storming away from her. She breathed out heavily, sagging as much as her bonds would allow her. The rope was rubbing into the skin of her wrists and ankles, a stinging sensation that was increasing the longer she hung there. She barely had a moment to feel irritated before he was back in front of her, launching his fist into her stomach with absolutely no preamble.

Just like that all of the air was forced out of her lungs, pain hitting her in a dull thud as she coughed, struggling to get the muscles in her gut to do something other than flex convulsively as she silently heaved.

The pain was to be expected, she came here knowing that it was going to hurt. So the continuous blows were unsurprising, being punched and kicked and slapped. All the while he screamed at her, yelling and raging he called her slut and whore and other really unoriginal things.

He blamed her for being sent to prison. Which, ok yes, she helped the police catch him. But he went to prison because he was working with Maldovian crime families, smuggling drugs, guns, girls, abusing his position as a police officer to get even more drugs, and sidelining as a wannabe pimp for under-aged girls like Darcy. She felt the need to point that out, but before she could she got another punch to the gut and could do little more than cough and groan.

Everything about this was running almost exactly the way she had expected, the rage and the beating, like a scene out of a bad movie. But even in her wildest imagination, she could never have prepared herself for how much getting the shit kicked out of her hurt.

She wasn’t a masochist, and she definitely wasn’t some sort of enhanced superhero, able to withstand the agony through the sheer power of her own belief. Maybe if she had something noble to fight for, if she was here defending the good of mankind or orphan kittens or something like that. Maybe then she could grit her teeth through it, knowing that whatever she suffered it was for a good cause.

But she wasn’t there to save anyone, not ever herself. She was little more than a coward, here because it was the easy way out, to make everything stop.

But fuck did it hurt. She knew she deserved it, that this was the price she had to pay, but honestly, it was doing very fucking little in the way of a consolation.

She was crying, tears mingling with the blood on her face. She could see it dripping onto the ground below her, at least she could in the small moments when she was able to pry her eyes open. She couldn’t even form proper words, and part of her was grateful for the fact that it was only sobbing, grunting, pathetic cries of pain escaping her lips, and not the incoherent pleading running through her mind.

God did she want it to end. Every inch of her screaming for it to be over, begging for death. Each hit hurt more than the one before. Wasn’t it supposed to blur together? She thought it was supposed to blanket her in an overall agony. Instead, every blow just compounded, each hit building over the last. Until it was like a storm of hurt, rolling all over her in a mess of sharp bursts and throbbing aches.

Vaguely she was thankful that Dooney was your run-of-the-mill asshole, not as sadistic as Radovan, who would have known exactly where to cut to inflict the most amount of pain and the least amount of damage, to make this last the entire night until all she would have been capable of was screaming and begging him to kill her.

Her shoulders were the ones screaming, she could feel them being drawn slowly from their sockets as she hung there, on the verge of throwing up from the sheer, overwhelming pain of it all.

After what felt like hours – it very well could have been, she was way past the point of being capable of telling anymore – he finally stopped.

Dooney stepped back from her, she could hear the movement, hear the way he was panting from exertion. Tilting her head up, she bit back another cry of pain, managing to muffle it down to a small whimper. One of her eyes was swollen shut and she could barely make out anything through the blood dripping into the other.

But even with her limited vision she could see it, the impotent rage flooding him. He couldn’t use her, he couldn’t hurt her properly. Not in the way he wanted to, the way that he used to. She had seen to it that he would never use another woman or girl like that _ever_ again when she pressed the muzzle of his own gun to his groin and pulled the fucking trigger.

It was the closest thing she could feel to satisfaction right now. Unable to truly enjoy it with every single one of her nerves screaming for it to be over. And he knew it. She must have still had enough fight in her to express the savage joy the knowledge brought her. She could see the moment he recognized it on her bloodied and beaten face.

When he drew his gun and pointed it at her she wanted to smile, to cry in relief. She was definitely crying, head spinning she was so dizzy and nauseous that she didn’t even have the words to describe how much it hurt. Not even the knowledge that it was about to end, that it would stop, could dull the agony coursing its way through her.

Her head was pounding, her shoulders burning, every single inch of her oscillating between burning pain and bone deep aching.

“Any last words, little pig?” his head tilted to the side, considering her.

Spitting out the blood and saliva pooling in her mouth she managed to drag her eye to fix his dead on. Slurring, and probably not even coherent she managed to force out the words “Fuck y-” before the crack of the gun going off exploded through the room. There was another bang, louder than an echo and she had a fraction of a second to notice it before it hit her.

It was like the world was on mute, a rushing noise in her ears blocking out all other sounds. Nothing slowed down, if anything it moved faster, but in those last few seconds it was as if she had become hyper aware of everything around her.

Dooney’s face had morphed from his satisfied grin to one of numb shock, eyes falling to look at the dark stain growing on his shirt, right over where his heart should be. The second after it appeared something small stabbed through it, protruding a few inches.

Darcy didn’t see him collapse, she didn’t even have a second to be confused by what was happening. One moment their eyes met, the next all she knew was pain so intense it felt like everything in her gut was on fire and then darkness.

Everything went black.

*

“No. Darcy, please no-”

Bucky made a wordless desperate sound as the call disconnected, staring down at the screen. With another cry he threw it, the small phone flying through the air and into one of the windows. The glass was reinforced and bulletproof, so it was the phone that shattered, dropping to the floor in several pieces.

He was practically vibrating, tremors racking his entire frame. Rage and worry and the sheer feeling of being absolutely powerless overwhelming him. He could feel the pressure of Steve’s hand on his shoulder, it helped but it wasn’t enough. There had never been a moment where he wanted to be able to curl into a ball and pretend that Steve could make everything better more than he did in that second.

“We’ve got her!” Tony didn’t spare a glance to where one of his prized bits of tech had just been destroyed. “She turned it off again but she won’t be able to get far.”

There was a map with a small red dot blinking at them all. He recognized the area, he could see her address, the one for her apartment building just around the corner from where she had called.

Everything felt slowed down, it had barely been a minute since the call and it was Clint’s phone that rung this time around.

Everyone froze, before simultaneously turning to face the archer as he pulled it out and put it on loud speaker.

“Darcy?”

“No,” it was a male voice that answered, one that Bucky didn’t recognize.

“Barney?” Clint looked as confused as Bucky felt, before his expression morphed into anger. “How the fuck did you-?”

The man, Barney, cut him off, reciting an address. It was met with confused silence, everyone staring at the phone like it had started to speak another language.

“Hurry,” Barney continued, and Bucky could hear the genuine remorse in his tone. “She doesn’t have much time.”

He couldn’t even spare a thought to wonder who the fuck that was, attention still focused on the beeping tone that signalled the call had ended. It was Tony that voiced the question.

Natasha responded, apparently recognizing whoever this Barney character was and telling them nothing more than he was a reliable source. Bucky couldn’t give two flying fucks how reliable the source was, he could already see the address he offered on the map, not two blocks from the red light where Darcy ditched her phone, even before Tony waved his hands, getting the image to zoom in and expand.

“Export warehouse,” he read from the box of text that appeared by his head. “Owners _definitely_ have family connections.

And like that Bucky felt less helpless. Just like that he could push down the thoughts swirling through his brain that told him this was different, that this was _Darcy_. Like that it was just one more standard op, not unlike any of the others. Civilian target, multiple unknown hostiles, they had both a location and a timeline. Just like that he could call on the single-minded mission focus of the Winter Soldier to get the job done.

And just like that, everyone else could do the same.

In what seemed like no time at all they were kitted out in standard black tactical gear. Tonight was not the night for flashy Avengers’ getup. Armed to the teeth they sat stoically in the back of one of Tony’s quinjets. Tony was in the cockpit with Natasha, not yet dressed in one of his Iron Man suits.

Clint, Sam and Bucky were in the back hangar, listening intently as Steve assigned everyone positions around the building, pointing out attack patterns and blind spots on the hologram projected before them. The Winter Soldier listened intently, filing each piece of information away so that he could draw it out when it was tactically advantageous. He noted the approximate locations of the other operatives, mentally cataloguing the building’s surrounds and calculating the chances of police involvement.

As the Soldier focused on the mission, Bucky tried to pull himself together.

He’d always been a good liar, telling Steve that he wasn’t hungry so that he could convince him to eat his portion of dinner, telling Carter that he was fine so that he could stay out in the field because someone had to watch out for the howling lunatics that called themselves commandoes. Decades of brainwashing and training had only made him better at the art of deception.

But despite of all of that he had never been particularly good at lying to himself.

Try as he might to push all of it down, to allow the Soldier to take full control even if it was for little more than a tactical advantage, he couldn’t quite do it.

The thoughts were a constant swell, raging higher in the back of his mind. A swirling mass of fear and panic for Darcy, worrying that they were too late, blaming himself for not being better, for not doing more. He should have fought harder, tried to know her better. He should have pushed when he knew, he _knew_ , that there was something wrong with her.

It was still eating at him when they silently landed on the roof of an adjacent building, angry voices berating him for not doing enough, for never being enough as they split into their teams of two.

Tony (now in the armour) and Sam took off, flying across ready to enter the warehouse from the roof. The rest of them make their way down to the street, Natasha and Clint peeling away to climb a fire escape that opened onto the upper floor. He and Steve continued towards the back of the building, the pair of them on alert for anyone keeping watch as they circled around to find the rear entrance.

“Bucky stop,” Steve’s voice was almost silent, barely audible to him even with his enhanced senses.

Thinking that there was a hostile nearby Bucky froze, automatically lifting his gun a little higher and scanning the surrounding area. Seeing no sign of anything out of the ordinary he turned back to Steve, silently questioning him. Glancing sidelong up the side alley Steve grabbed his arm, pulling him behind the relative cover of an overflowing dumpster.

“Stop beating yourself up,” it was an order, tainted with Captain America’s commanding tone, but he could still detect _Steve_ , the concern laying underneath.

He sucked in a breath, preparing to hiss back that this _really_ wasn’t the time. But Steve had always been able to read him like a fucking book.

“We don’t have time for this,” he conceded, taking a small step closer and fixing Bucky with one of his patented earnest expressions. “But you need to stop. None of us knew. _None of us._ ”

But Bucky _did_ though, he knew that there was something wrong and he was too much of a coward to try and find out what. He was opening his mouth to tell Steve that when the blond cut him off.

“We all knew there was something going on, but none of us could have possibly known what that was because she didn’t tell us. Not Jane, not even her own brother.”

Bucky deflated slightly, part of him still raring to argue that he should have done more, been better.

“This isn’t your fault, ok? Any more than it is Darcy’s fault. The people to blame here are the ones that made her feel like she had to do this alone. The ones who hurt her and made her think that she couldn’t tell us about her past.”

Bucky knew that, he really did, but it didn’t stop him from feeling like all he was capable of doing was letting the people he loved down. He promised Sarah Rogers that he’d protect Steve and he failed, Steve may not blame him for it, but Bucky knew the truth. He’d seen the date of his fall and the date that Steve crashed that plane into the arctic. Steve did that because of him. And now he’d failed Darcy.

“We need to focus on the mission,” he couldn’t tell if Steve thought it was working, or if he recognized that Bucky didn’t believe him entirely and had merely chosen a new approach. “We’re going to get her out of this. And when it’s done and over we’re going to have the chance to show her that none of it’s true, ok?”

Bucky nodded. He could do that, he could focus on the task at hand, complete the mission. Because he wanted the chance to do that, to be better for not only Darcy but for Steve as well.

In silence they resumed stalking around the edge of the building until they were situated near the back. They waited for the others to call in, everyone confirming they were in position and ready to go. There was always this tense moment, the pause before an attack where it felt like nothing moved.

He and Steve were on either side of the large and rusted roller door, Bucky with both hands holding his gun steady, the butt of it a comforting pressure digging into his shoulder, Steve with his shield in front of him and a small handgun pointing towards the closed door. He strained to hear what was happening inside, trying to make out more than muffled voices.

“Heat’s picking up seventeen signatures,” Tony informed them. “Assuming one of them is Lewis that’s sixteen bad guys spread about the room. Most are dead centre. Barton you’ve got two at your ten o’clock guarding the front, there’s three by Cap at the back door.”

Tony continued to tell them all the positions of the remaining men, everyone claiming the targets closest to them. Bucky could see Steve opening his mouth, ready to give the order to breach when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot exploded through the otherwise silent night air.

Bucky’s thoughts screeched to a halt. One second he was staring at the closed roller door between them and the next he had torn through it with his metal hand, ripping his way into the warehouse. His eyes took in three things in quick succession.

One: Darcy was half naked and strung up in the middle of the room, hanging limply and covered in blood and bruises.

Two: There was a man standing between them.

Three: He had a gun out in front of him, still pointing at Darcy even as he turned towards the sound of Bucky ripping through the door.

There was not even a moment of hesitation before he fired, the squeezing of the trigger almost an afterthought. The bullet hit the man in the back, a direct shot through to his heart. The man froze, caught halfway between facing Darcy and turning towards him. Nothing moved for a fraction of a second as they locked eyes and the sound of Bucky’s gun echoed through the cavernous space. Almost immediately after, an arrow hit the guy virtually exactly where Bucky’s bullet struck, most likely fired in the same instant.

Bucky was moving before the guy he could only assume was Dooney collapsed to the ground, ignoring the way his crumpled form was gurgling blood and twitching on the dirty concrete. With the movement all of the noise rushed back in, sounds of flesh being struck behind him letting him know that Steve was taking care of the guys by the door that Stark had told them about. There was the ring of gunshots and he briefly saw a flash of red hair dropping from the rafters to take care of the men at the front entrance.

But his focus barely drifted to either of those fights for very long.

He reached Darcy, dropping his gun and in one movement pulled a knife out and sliced through the ropes holding her arms up. Skidding to a halt he caught her in his arms, lowering her to the ground as gently as he could and quickly reaching down to slice through the ropes looped around her ankles.

Darcy only let out the smallest of whimpers as her arms dropped, even though he knew from personal experience how much it hurt when you were let down after being strung up like that. The burn of having your shoulders twisted that way, responsible for the entire weight of your body, was unbearable. But it always hurt more when the weight was removed and they were forced back into place.

One of her eyes was almost swollen shut, only the smallest sliver of her eye visible through the purple and rapidly swelling flesh. Her cheek and lips were equally as bruised, the bottom one split open and still bleeding slightly. There was a cut near her hairline that was leaking blood into her other eye and he gently tried to wipe some of it away.

But he’d heard the sound of the gunshot, and even before looking down he knew what he was going to find.

“Hey there doll,” he crooned softly, smiling down at her. “You’re ok, you’re going to be just fine.”

He couldn’t decide if he was trying to convince her of that or himself. Given that she was barely conscious and probably not paying much attention to him he decided he wasn’t going to examine that thought too closely. Wincing slightly he pressed his flesh hand against the wound on her stomach, able to feel the hot wetness of her blood spilling out over his fingers.

She let out a wrecked sob, convulsing slightly, and he couldn’t feel too guilty about it. It was a sign that she was still there.

Gut shots were the worst, which he knew from personal experience. He could only take the fact that she was still alive, still somewhat responsive, to mean that it hadn’t hit her stomach, or any of her other vital organs. But that was going to mean jack shit if they didn’t get the bleeding stopped and soon.

“Wilson, get down here!” he yelled before turning back to Darcy and pressing down on his flesh hand with his metal one. “I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I just gotta put pressure on it ok?”

She made another pained sound but this one was softer, weaker. What little of her eyes he could see rolled back slightly.

“Hey! No! Look at me!” he commanded.

She wasn’t focusing, eyes fluttering shut head lolling to the side slightly. He pressed his hand against the wound harder, his movements jerky and desperate. She was too pale underneath all of the blood and bruising.

“SAM!” he screamed, using his metal hand to grab her chin, roughly jerking her so that her eyes snapped open and onto his. “Don’t you fucking dare Lewis, eyes on me.”

A second later Clint was there, he had something dark and fabric in his hands, something a small portion of Bucky’s brain recognised as the dress that Darcy had been wearing earlier. Immediately he moved his hand, letting Clint press the dress to her wound and apply pressure. The archer yelled for Sam, and he could hear the way his voice broke, the panic and terror in his tone mirroring Bucky’s.

Heedless of the blood still covering his hands he cupped Darcy’s face, gently tapping her cheek, trying to get her to open her eyes again.

“Stay with us now, come on Darcy,” distantly he could hear Sam landing next to them, pushing in next to Clint to assess the damage.

She wasn’t opening her eyes, head going limp between his fingers.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, shaking her gently. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

It was Steve that caught him when he fell back, warm arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding him as Clint hoisted Darcy up in his arms, Sam standing with them, both trying to move her to the quinjet.

Outside he wanted to yell, to scream at her to wake up, and demand that she open her eyes. Inside his voice was smaller, begging her to stay. Begging her not to leave them.

 


	13. Band-Aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know,” he began, sucking in a breath. “You’re kind of my best friend.”
> 
> She looked surprised by the information, and he understood. Most people assumed Steve, which was partially true. But Steve had been so much more than that for so long, even before either of them got their heads out of their asses. Steve didn’t really count.
> 
> “I know there isn’t really a large group to be contending with,” he smirked. “Aside from the avengers I don’t really talk to that many people. But you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so first off, I'm sorry this took so long. I was working a lot, and then I got sick but kept working so I basically spent the last few days in bed with the Plague. Today was the first day I could actually sit up and do stuff.
> 
> So **MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNINGS for the first part of this chapter.** Like all of the trigger warnings. It's only for the first 2000 words or so, just until the first page break but please check the end notes for more detailed warnings. I've tried to include them in the tags, but just in case. I don't want to mess anyone up. It get's brought up later in the chapter but nothing more detailed than what's already been mentioned in the rest of the fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift, because why the fuck not?

Katerina Debrofkowitz was born in 1989 to parents David and Elaine. They were never a rich family, comfortable living in the upper middle class in their safe suburb in their simple house. Her mother worked part-time as a sales clerk at a department store and her father ran his own dry-cleaning business.

She was eight years old when her mother passed away from leukaemia.

It took several months for the cancer to kill her, and Kat spent them living with her Gran whilst her Mom was in the hospital. Slowly the vibrant woman who used to climb trees with her in the back yard and danced with her in the kitchen when her favourite songs were playing on the radio withered away until one morning she just didn’t wake up.

She never really understood what was happening, beyond her mother was very sick and suddenly she wasn’t getting better. She was old enough to understand that she wasn’t coming back, that she was in a better place where she could climb and dance again now that she wasn’t frail and bald and bedridden. She knew enough to miss her.

Kat was ten years old when the kissing and the touching first started.

Even to this day she could recall exactly when she first noticed that the way her father looked at her was different, the tiny chill of fear that would settle around her when his eyes raked over her small frame. The panic that he would hurt her. There was a boy in her class, Danny Ellis, whose father used to hit him when he was mad. Kat didn’t want to get hit.

So when her father looked at her that way, she didn’t really understand. When he held her close and kissed her on her lips she was actually relieved. When his hands ran over her gently she felt safe. Her Daddy didn’t want to hurt her, he loved her.

He would whisper it into her hair, late at night when he slipped into her bed and hugged her close, his arms tight around her. He loved her more than other Daddy’s loved their daughters. She knew, because he told her when he was naked in her bed holding her to him, his hand stroking over her and then stroking himself.

It was their secret, she couldn’t tell anyone else because then the other little girls would get jealous. They wouldn’t understand.

But he did hit her in the end. Whenever she was bad he would slap her, hard and sharp. Never on her face. He told her that she was too pretty to be walking around with bruises. And every time she would sniffle and cry and apologise, crawling into his bed and snuggling close, wondering what it was she had done wrong.

He never told her. But he loved her more than other Daddy’s loved their daughters, they didn’t get kisses the way that she did. So for him to have to hurt her like that, she knew that she must have done something really bad.

Kat was thirteen years old when everything changed.

Alex Hammond pulled her aside one day at the end of classes and shyly kissed her behind the bike shed, blushing all the way to the roots of his chocolate brown hair before scurrying away. She cried for thirteen minutes afterwards. It was her first proper kiss from a boy, it was supposed to be special. But all she could think of was how it was no different to the way her father kissed her, the way he would sometimes pull her close and tell her he loved her.

She was young but she knew that it was supposed to be different, that Dads were not supposed to kiss their daughters the same way that other boys or girls did. She hated herself for only figuring it out then, for not noticing sooner. So she sat behind the bike shed for thirteen minutes and cried. Just because her father loved her more than other dads loved their daughters, it did not mean that it was better.

Kat was thirteen years old when she realised that it was worse.

Her father knew about the kiss, she didn’t tell him, but somehow he always seemed to know. When she got in the car at the end of the school day (her eyes a little red from crying and her lips still tingling slightly) she could tell that he was mad. They didn’t speak the entire drive home, and with each passing minute she knew that she didn’t want to get there.

When they pulled into the driveway her father got out of the car immediately. She silently followed him into the house, still not knowing if she’d done something wrong or he was mad for letting someone else kiss her (it was only the first time, but even later, he always seemed to _know_ ), but hoping that if she was good and quiet that he wouldn’t stay mad at her.

It was a Friday which meant that his assistant Margaret closed the shop for him and he spent the afternoon doing the books in his office. It was the only day she didn’t catch the bus home, spending the afternoon alone until he came home from work.

The fear that gripped her that afternoon was so acute that she was actually relieved when he came into her room that night. He hadn’t spoken to her since picking her up from school, locked in his office whilst she did her homework and made dinner and got ready for bed.

But if he was here now, even after ignoring her for all of those hours, then he couldn’t have been too mad.

Kat was thirteen years old when her father raped her for the first time.

She remembered crying and struggling, knowing that something was wrong, that fathers shouldn’t do this. It hurt. It made her feel sick and after, when he held her painfully tight as she sobbed and shook, he told her that he loved her.

But it was different. He wasn’t telling her that he loved her more than other fathers loved their daughters. He was telling her that he was the only person who ever could. Trembling, terrified, and ashamed, she knew in that moment that it was true. Thirteen years old and she believed him, couldn’t see how anyone else could love someone who would let that happen.

Almost naively she thought that it would get better after that. But it never got better, just steadily worse. For two whole years she let it go on, she never told a soul. She felt weak, but was convinced that there was nothing she could do about it. For two years she let herself get beaten and raped, lived every day feeling disgusted and ashamed of herself.

Kat was fifteen years old when she ran away from home.

She couldn’t tell you what finally made her snap, there was no catalyst, no defining moment, there was no straw that broke the camel’s back. One day her father was staying late at work, and she was home by herself. That was it. She was alone and for that fraction of a moment she felt safe. But for whatever reason, on that particular afternoon, the thought hit her. Just a couple of hours on her own before he would return, not unlike most days in the week, she realise that she didn’t have to still be there when he did.

It was awful. Sleeping in abandoned buildings when she found them, or just out on the street when she couldn’t, stealing barely enough food to survive. She didn’t dare go to school, and there were no friends that she could stay with, her father saw to it that she didn’t grow close to anyone but him. On her own, cold, and starving, it was the best that she had felt in years.

She was free.

When she stumbled across the man in the alley it had been several weeks. He was smoking something that was not a cigarette, and when he smiled and asked if she wanted to give it a try she said yes, because it was cold and she was alone and his eyes were a soft and friendly brown.

She choked on the first drag, eyes watering and throat burning as the sickly sweet chemical smoke breached her lungs. He just smiled gently at her and showed her how to do it properly. The second try wasn’t as bad, warming her up from the inside, starting in her chest and spreading slowly to the tips of her fingers.

By the time they finished the pipe she felt like she was flying. She was flying and the world had a glow to it, soft and rosy like it would all be ok. Everything was warm and hazy and beautiful, and when the guy leant in to kiss her she let him, because it was easy, it was something she knew how to do.

After, when she was coming back down, he pulled his pants back on hastily and tossed her a twenty before sauntering off.

It was the first time she’d bought food in nearly three weeks.

After that it seemed so simple to just keep doing it. She hadn’t finished high school, she couldn’t get a real job, and this was the only thing she knew how to do. So she walked the streets at night, sucking guys off in alley-ways for twenty bucks a pop and following them back to their cars for fifty. She stopped going by Kat, started calling herself Angel. Met other women, other girls, all of them just trying to get by much in the same way that she was.

Angel was sixteen years old when she was approached by Sgt Dooney of the Toronto PD.

She hadn’t been so scared in all of her life, knowing that if he arrested her she was going to die. At only sixteen she was still a minor and would be sent back to that house. And she had promised herself that she was never going back, she would end her life before returning.

So she’d sidled up to the cop, running her hand over his chest and whispering into his ear that she could make it worth his while if he kept walking and forgot he ever saw her. Her voice was low and husky but her hands had trembled the entire time, her heart racing with the knowledge that it could very well be her only shot at survival.

After following him to his car and taking him in her mouth she had sat and listened to him as he told her that he had a proposition for her. With the promise of food and shelter she’d allowed him to put a bag over her head and drive her up the hills to the house that smelt like horse shit where she could hear planes.

And so she’d been Radovan Kristic’s favourite girl for like a minute. In reality she’d been given somewhere to sleep, something hot to eat, and – thanks to Dooney – some bling to smoke in exchange for letting the mob boss fuck her and pass her around like a cheap party favour when he was bored with her.

Usually they simply killed the girls they were done with, at least that’s what Dooney told her. More likely they just unleashed them on the streets, no point shooting something that would bring in an income. He had taken a shine to her apparently, and had gone out of his way to spare her life. Maybe because she was barely seventeen, maybe because he could pay her with the shit he got through his position on the drug squad rather than in cash.

Maybe it was because she needed him, needed him to keep her, to look after her, and the power was as addicting to him as the crystal meth was to her. Either way she got to keep her life (as little as it was worth) even after she’d lost favour with the Maldovan crowd.

Angel was seventeen when she met Defendor for the first time.

Sitting in Dooney’s car she was interrupted mid blow-job by what sounded like the cops but turned out to be a guy dressed up like a superhero.

Arthur Poppington may not have saved the world, he may not have even saved that many lives. But when he looked her in the eye and told her to “make like a rocket” he set them both on a path that wound up saving hers. She had never been a big believer in fate or destiny, never liked to think that the shit that had happened in her life had been for some fucked up higher purpose. But for whatever reason, she never questioned following that one command.

She took off.

*

It might have been the beeping that woke her. Soft, slow, and rhythmic, it was the first thing she became aware of. It wasn’t obnoxious, if anything it was soothing, so for a minute or an hour (time was oddly confusing at the moment) she just lay there, eyes shut as she slowly breathed in time with the sound.

She might have been dreaming, everything had a groggy haze to it right then so she couldn’t really say for sure. Arthur had been in the dreams, she could remember his face. They weren’t nightmares. The times when all she could see was him with a gun pointed to his chest and she couldn’t run fast enough, couldn’t make a sound. Not until she woke up at least, lurching forward and letting out the scream she’d been unable to in the dream.

Maybe she was still dreaming, everything felt warm and dark and safe.

It took a bit for the pain to permeate her thoughts, a dull aching that touched every inch of her, telling her that trying to move would be a bad idea. Everything was foggy and she couldn’t figure out where she was, if she was even awake.

Slowly her eyes opened, her head resting on something soft rolled over to the side. At first all she could see was white light, bright and making the pain in her skull that much more pronounced. It took a lot of effort to blink, once, twice, three times until the world around her came into focus.

She could see a window, large and square with silvery grey blinds. They were tilted open enough that she could see through them, out into the hallway beyond. There’s a blond head she could see the back off, tilted forward so the long hair was spilling over a pair of broad shoulders. Thor, her brain supplied, with Jane no doubt curled up on his lap if the way he was leant forward was anything to judge by.

Across from him Sam and Natasha were facing each other, probably sitting down too. They looked like they were playing cards. Between them Tony paced backwards and forwards, thumbs flying across the tiny piece of glass he called a phone.

Which meant that Bucky and maybe Clint must be-

The beeping got a little faster, and somewhere she recognised that it was mimicking her heart, combined with the sharp antiseptic smell she was becoming more aware of, meant she was in a hospital. Even though she was moving slowly (so very slowly, it took much more effort than she thought it should) her heartrate kept getting faster as she rolled her head to the left.

Both of them were in uncomfortable looking vinyl covered chairs, sitting in almost identical positions. Arms folded over their chests, heads tilting forwards slightly, and their legs stretched out in front of them ankles crossed. Part of her wanted to laugh at them, still as statues in the same pose.

They both looked like they were sleeping, but the second her eyes landed fully on Bucky his snapped open.

For a moment nothing happened, they both just sat unmoving, looking at the other. She couldn’t say what it was, but something in her brain clicked. It wasn’t a rush of memory, where everything came flooding back in a wave, like reliving the last few hours in fast forward. Everything just slotted back into place, like one moment there was a sheet covering it, and the next it had been pulled away and she just knew.

She shouldn’t be here, she _shouldn’t fucking be here_. This wasn’t right, she was supposed to be dead (she got fucking shot) but she wasn’t dead, she was here in a hospital bed alive and breathing, the beat of her heart thudding in her ears and echoing in the room as a steadily increasing set of beeps. She was here and alive after being shot and they had something to do with it, they rescued her and now they knew, _they knew,_ and-

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t fucking breathe, it hurt, in her chest and her gut and her heart was beeping shrilly and all she could think was no, no, _no,_ and maybe she was saying it out loud too but she couldn’t tell, she didn’t know. She couldn’t breathe and the harder she tried the more it fucking hurt. Her stomach was on _fire_ and Bucky was leaning forward, eyes darting over her like he was panicking, like he _cared_ and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, and she couldn’t and she needed to get out of there before anyone else came in.

It was the first thought that she could focus on properly, the first that she knew she could do something about. She attempted rolling out of the bed and nearly screamed at the tearing, the burning, the white hot pain stabbing through her gut. Wrapping her arms around herself, she was sobbing and still repeating the word “no” even more frantically and trying to crawl her way out of the bed, but it hurt and she still couldn’t fucking breathe, and there were tears rolling down her face but _she had to get out of there_.

A pair of hands grabbed hold of her, one soft and warm, the other cold and unyielding, and she knew that it was Bucky and that he wasn’t trying to hurt her but she fought him anyway because she had to go, straining too far forward and she screamed, doubling over and screwing her eyes shut at the overwhelming agony tearing through her. She wanted to throw up and run and just be able to _take a fucking breath_.

There’s noise, and suddenly everyone was rushing in, Steve at the front of the group, out of breath and carrying what looked like an entire tray full of paper coffee cups. They wanted to know what was going on, what had happened, and dimly she registers Clint next to Bucky trying to get her to lay back down and Bucky yelling at Steve to help them.

Steve had his hands out, approaching her slowly as she curled tighter around herself but didn’t for a second stop trying to claw her way out of the bed.

“Darce,” his tone was soft and soothing, like she was a wild animal and part of her knew that she was acting like that but she couldn’t stop, there was pain and adrenaline flooding her entire system and she just kept moving. “I need you to calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

And she almost laughed through the sobbing and the way she kept trying to suck in air, short sharp breaths that did nothing to help her inflate her lungs, because she was already fucking hurt.

Bucky and Clint had a hold of her shoulder and one of her legs, trying to gently push her to lie back down without hurting her further.

There was a constant stream running through her mind. That she had to get out, she had to get away from them because she didn’t deserve to be there, she couldn’t stay. It didn’t work, it didn’t work and now they knew, they knew about everything and she couldn’t – she needed to – she – she –

A nurse finally came barging in, pushing her way through the assembled Avengers and asking to know what the hell was going on. Someone must have explained, or the nurse just figured something out, Darcy didn’t know and she didn’t care. She was too busy trying to break free of the hands holding her, trying to run, trying to breathe. Either way the nurse bustled forward, sidestepping Clint and Bucky, and out of Darcy’s line of sight.

She felt heavy all of a sudden, like gravity was increasing and pulling her down. Everything was shifting slowly out of focus, dimming, she still had her contacts in, she didn’t know why it became so important to realise that, but her brain kept hitching on the fact. Maybe she should take them out. But she couldn’t move so well, each effort became steadily harder until she couldn’t hold herself up at all.

Steve and Bucky laid her back and she could only just make out Clint stepping away to allow the nurse to pull back her blankets. She was… she was looking at her stomach… because Darcy had been shot. That’s right, she’d been shot and she had to leave so no one could see.

But she was too tired now, drifting off slowly. Dimly she recognized the sound of her own voice, weak, sluggish, mumbling brokenly. She had to go, they couldn’t see… they couldn’t know.

There was a comforting weight gripping her ankle, warm and solid like the hand on her shoulder. There was somebody brushing the hair back from her face, gently shushing her. It took a lot more effort than she thought it should to blink her eyes back open, and even as she did she immediately wanted to let them fall shut again.

She didn’t, struggling to look up at Bucky, frowning down at her, whispering something soothing… but it was too quiet… she couldn’t make it out.

His eyes were the last thing she saw before the sedative took hold and knocked her the rest of the way out.

*

The second time was like waking up from a nightmare, flashes of pain and Dooney and the gunshot mixed all together with the panic and the need to _not be here_. It was a fraction of a second before Darcy’s eyes snapped open, and immediately she was more coherent, only taking a second for everything to slot into place.

Jack was parked in a wheelchair next to her, holding her hand as he watched the small TV mounted up in the corner. She felt his thumb start to rub soothing circles over her knuckles, his attention still on the nature documentary playing quietly, but gently letting her know that he was there and that she was safe.

He didn’t turn to look at her, content to watch the television and give her a moment. It was several more minutes after her breathing had slowed and her heartrate – still being broadcast by the repetitive beeping of the machine – had returned to normal before he spoke.

“They kicked everyone out,” he told her. “One visitor at a time, Doctors orders. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to be here when you woke up, so I played the family card.”

She didn’t say anything in response, her mind still a little sluggish she instead took a moment to process his words. The others had been here before, she could remember that much. The entire team crowded around the end of her bed as she thrashed around and tried to get away. And the doctors had made them leave, because of her. Because she had been freaking out and panicking in her half-conscious state.

The panic wasn’t as strong now, she was awake enough to realise that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, not after a gunshot wound to the stomach and what was probably a medical textbook of injuries to the rest of her.

She couldn’t open her left eye all of the way, and she was afraid of moving, knowing that the dull ache settled over most of her would sharpen acutely. Even the movement of her lungs as she breathed in an out was enough to send stabs of it through her injured gut.

There was no way she could leave, even though a large part of her was already thinking about packing up and fleeing to somewhere new, maybe somewhere on the West coast.

“Bucky looked like he was going to fight me on it,” Jack continued, unconcerned by her lack of response. “He wasn’t keen on letting you out of his sights. Somehow he’s got it in his head that you’ll run off without constant supervision.”

His voice was getting harder, even though he was still holding onto her hand, still rubbing those reassuring circles over her knuckles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so mad at you.”

She couldn’t make herself turn to look at him. The way that his voice shook, the way that it barely concealed how angry he truly was. She could only imagine what his face looked like.

“I mean,” he sighed, a short huff of air. “I get it, I do. I’ve known you longer than just about anyone, so I’ve had plenty of first-hand experience with just how goddamned stubborn you can be.”

Darcy was breathing slowly, trying to will away the tears she could feel burning behind her eyes.

When he spoke next his voice was still shaking, but not from anger. It almost sounded like he was doing his best to fight back tears also, “I just _don’t_ get it though.”

It’s that simple sentence that made her finally turn to look at him, and immediately wished that she hadn’t.

He wasn’t quite crying, though there were definitely tears gathering in his lower lashes. But it wasn’t the sight of tears, because she had seen tears on him before. She had known him since he was a kid, she’d seen tears of happiness and tantrums, she’d been there the first time a girl ever broke his heart. They had watched _Toy Story 3_ together, curled up on the family couch during one of her visits and each crying over animated characters.

So it wasn’t the tears that hit her the hardest. It was the raw emotions playing across his young face. The pain and the fear and the heartbreak that made her want to sit everything aside and _fix_ whatever made him look like that. Because it had always been more important to her to make sure that he was ok rather than looking after her own wellbeing.

So she was geared up ready to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That was until he interrupted her.

“I don’t get how you don’t seem to understand how important you are.”

That brought her up short.

“I don’t get how you could think that you would mean so little to everyone, to me, that we wouldn’t want to help you,” he was staring intently at her, eyes boring into hers so that there was no way she could doubt the sincerity of his words. “Is it because you’re afraid that they’ll judge you? That they only love this fantasy Darcy you’ve invented and anything else will have them turning their backs?”

Darcy couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, blinking and looking away. Because he was right, but also very wrong. It wasn’t that she thought they would judge her, that they wouldn’t want to be around her anymore if they found out the truth.

It was that they would forgive her; that they would listen and understand and try to help. And she didn’t deserve that, not from them, not from anyone.  That was her whole plan, the whole point of going to face Dooney, she wouldn’t have to see their reactions to the truth. She was supposed to die, never knowing if they hated her for what she had done, but able to still convince her self that they would, because it was what she deserved.

He stopped rubbing her knuckles, adjusting his hand so that he could grip hers tightly, both of them were crying.

“Kat, Darcy, whoever you want to be,” he smiled wetly. “You will always be the single bravest person I know. No one should have to live through even a small portion of what you have, but not only did you live through it, you’ve risen above it.”

He squeezed her hand, smiling at her like she was something amazing, something incredible.

“You’ve got so much now, so much that you have earned. And if anyone ever tries to take away from the incredible person you are because of the bad things that have happened to you? Fuck them, they will never be worthy of your love or your friendship.”

She was outright bawling by that stage, gripping Jack’s hand hard enough to bruise, like she was terrified that he was going to float away. Never in all of her life, no matter what she did would she have deserved having met Arthur, if for no other reason than he led her to Jack.

“But these people?” he continued, nodding towards the closed door where she knew that the others were waiting outside. “The ones that were worried the second you were gone? Who would do whatever it takes to help you? They’re not like that. They love you, Darcy, all of you. And if you open yourself up, actually share _all_ of you with them. Well, they’ll love that too. Because whether you believe it or not, you do deserve it.”

Neither of them speak after that. Jack had said his piece and knew better than to keep trying to ram it home. He sat back in his wheel-chair, returning his attention to the television, and resuming rubbing gentle circles over her knuckles.

Darcy couldn’t stop the crying now that it started, laying back she let the tears flow, knowing that when they stopped she’d be exhausted enough to sleep again. It was too much, all of it. She just didn’t understand how people didn’t see the truth about her. Good people, like Arthur and Jack, Bucky, Clint and Steve, all of them seemed to think she was this amazing person; that she had so much to give. But it was because they were good people that they would and could only see the good things, wanting the best out of everyone.

It was the people like her father and Dooney, the ones that had seen her and then shown her exactly what she was and what she was capable of. They took a lot of time and effort to show her.

Lying there, listening to David Attenborough’s voice drifting quietly from the television she let herself cry, and tried to think of a way to explain it to them so they would understand. Staring at the ceiling, eventually she fell back to sleep.

*

Bucky had been staring at her for the last twenty-three minutes. Just watching her sleep, mapping every wound, every bruise across her face. Every stitch used to seal the large cut near her hair line, and though he couldn’t see it under the covers on the bed, his eyes kept dropping to where he knew the gunshot wound was on her stomach.

Bucky had been staring at her for the last twenty-four minutes. So he knew exactly when she woke up, noticed the hitch in her breathing, the way her brows pinched and furrowed before her eyes had even opened.

Nothing much changed once she was awake, only now while he was staring at her, she was staring back at him. Her face was carefully blank, even under all of the bruising, and not for the first time he found himself wondering what she was thinking.

What does she see, looking at him? Does she see someone who is a monster, who could at any second snap and kill, crush or destroy anything within a thirty foot radius? Does she see a broken man, a lost dog, someone who needs coddling and kid gloves? Or was it a combination of the two? Maybe it was just him that thought that way.

Sometimes he wondered if she was afraid of him, or if she was just afraid of what he would think.

More than anything he wished that he knew what say to help her.

“You know,” he began, sucking in a breath. “You’re kind of my best friend.”

She looked surprised by the information, and he understood. Most people assumed Steve, which was partially true. But Steve had been so much more than that for so long, even before either of them got their heads out of their asses. Steve didn’t really count.

“I know there isn’t really a large group to be contending with,” he smirked. “Aside from the avengers I don’t really talk to that many people. But you are.”

He was nodding to himself, because even though he’d really only said it to have something to say, it was true. She was one of the best friends he had ever had, and now that he had started to speak, it was almost like knowing what to say, the words just kept coming.

“I don’t think you realise just how much you’ve helped me,” he was staring at her, brows furrowed slightly. “And it wasn’t even by doing anything. You were just being you, treating me like you would anyone else. Like I was just some guy, not a ninety year old brainwashed ex-assassin, just a guy. Just by being you, you helped me to be me.”

Her brows pinched slightly, it wasn’t quite a frown but he could see a small crease forming.

“I thought that meant that maybe that’s what you believed, because you didn’t treat me any different than you would a regular human. You treated me like I might be your friend too. I guess I just don’t understand why you didn’t feel like you could trust me.”

It was a lie though, no matter how she treated him, no matter what Steve and the others told him, he knew that none of them should trust him. It’s not necessarily that he doesn’t deserve the trust; rather that he didn’t even trust himself. There was so much they didn’t know, could never know about what had been done to his brain. No matter how much the scanned him and questioned him, there could be triggers buried there that nobody could know about until it was too late, until somebody said the wrong thing and he was attempting to slit their throats.

It would be safer for them not to trust him. But he was making a point to Darcy, and if he had to lie then so be it. Because he needed to know why, he needed to know what had happened and making her feel guilty was one of the only ways that he could think of to make her tell him.

Part of him hated that he was resorting to this, to lying and manipulating. But she wasn’t about to help herself, he knew that from the second he realised she’d gone off on her little martyr quest. And if he had to sacrifice some of himself to help her, give in to the darker parts, then he was more than willing. She was goddamned worth it.

“You don’t really know who I am,” her voice was soft and raspy. “I’m not-”

He interrupted her, before she could feed him some bullshit about not being worthy, “I know enough to know that I never want you to feel like you need to lie or hide yourself from anybody. Especially me. You know what I am, what I’ve done.”

“It’s not the same.”

It was said so simply, like it was an undeniable fact, before she closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. The rage that rolled within him was unexpected. It made him so mad, so angry, that someone – more likely a few someones – had made her feel this way. Like whatever it was that she’d done (and he’d read through every single page of the file Tony had, so he had a pretty good idea) made her so awful that even someone like _him_ couldn’t possibly forgive her.

“How?” he struggled to keep his tone even, to not let the rage seep through. “ _How_ is it not the same?”

“Because,” she began huffing out a small breath. “Despite what you seem to think, there isn’t actually anything you could have done differently. And I know you don’t believe me, you don’t believe anyone when they tell you that, I can see it all over your face.”

Her glare was unwavering as she turned her head back to look at him.

“You think that if it had been anyone else, that they would have fought harder, fought longer. That they would have magically been able to withstand the severe and despicable horrors you were put through.”

He had nothing to say to that, not that he had a chance to, she just kept going.

“There is a difference,” she continued, wincing as she pushed herself forward slightly to lean closer. “Between choosing to do something, actually consciously making a decision for your own motivations and reasons, and finding yourself with next to no choices at all and choosing to live. I _chose_ to do bad things for some pretty shitty reasons, so trust me. It’s not the same.”

“Not the same as killing people, dozens of them? Worse than being a murderer?”

“You were never the murderer,” she looked like she was about to roll her eyes. “You were the weapon. You don’t blame the gun, you blame the asshole pulling the trigger. And that was never actually you.”

His temper just kept flaring, anger at the situation turning into irritation towards her. He couldn’t understand how they were suddenly talking about him. They were supposed to be talking about her.

“So explain it to me then,” he was goading her, he could see her anger rising to match his. “How is whatever you’ve done worse? What could possibly be so-?”

“How about fucking people for money?” she snarled, voice rising to cut him off. “Oh, or even better, fucking people for money to support a drug habit? I must have forgotten, nothing says that you’re a good person more than smoking crystal meth.”

Bucky opened his mouth to say something but she was on a roll now. The floodgates had opened and everything was finally pouring out.

“But it gets better,” her tone had a bright sarcastic edge to it. “Not only was I a whore and a meth addict, I was in fucking cahoots with the mob. That’s right, the junkie hooker was screwing crooked cops and Mafiosi left, right and centre to support her habit.”

Bucky could do little more than stare at her, frozen in his seat as she slowly leant towards him. Part of him wanted to stop her, to tell her it wasn’t true, that there was nothing in what she’d said that made her a bad person. But he knew that it needed to happen, that she needed to let it all out.

“And that was _me_ ,” she pointed to herself. “No one told me to take drugs, no one told me that sucking guys off was the only way to make money, because guess what? It isn’t. That was all me. I fucking dropped out of school at fifteen, I didn’t even get my GED until after-”

She cut herself off, like maybe she was about to say too much. Bucky saw it as his chance, not only to get the full story, but to help her as well.

“Darcy I dropped out of school when I was sixteen because I was tall enough to work lugging crates at the docks,” he sighed. “Back when Steve and I first started living together, he got sick one winter, well he was always sick in winter, but he got pneumonia pretty bad and he wasn’t getting better and we didn’t have the money to pay for medicine…”

He took a breath. This was something that he’d never told Steve, not because he was ashamed, because he wasn’t. People had to make money, and sometimes they didn’t get much of a choice in how that was, but other times they knew and chose it anyway. Despite what Darcy seemed to think (and he felt pretty sure that was more about how she saw herself than the profession) he had nothing but respect for the people who decided that that was what they wanted to do.

But he had never told Steve because he hated the way that Steve would always curl in on himself, the way he would withdraw and his frown would be permanently on his face when he thought that he wasn’t worth what Bucky did for him. When he thought that he was dragging Bucky down by not being able to pull his own weight. So he’d lied and pretended that he just picked up some more hours at the docks, that he would have gotten the money anyways, so they might was well use it on this while they could.

“Well,” he smiled, small and self-deprecating. “I don’t know how much you know about the neighbourhood we used to live in… but there were places near the navy yard where fellas could go, could pay…”

The smile he gave her was still small, but it was genuine, filled with understanding, and completely Bucky Barnes, without a trace of the Soldier.

“You don’t ever have to be ashamed of that, least of all to me.”

The laugh she let out was completely without humour, more like an angry cry than anything else.

“That is completely my point,” she sounded frustrated. “I mean, buying medicine for the guy you’ve basically been in love with your entire life? If that’s not the most noble reason for sucking cock I don’t know what is.”

“Addiction is a sickness,” he frowned. “Just because you weren’t buying the right medicine doesn’t mean you weren’t saving your own life.”

She actually looked furious, like she was pissed off that he wasn’t disgusted by her that he didn’t hate her like she thought she deserved. And _that_ was what he really fucking hated.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” his voice was calm, quiet. “You’re trying to get me to see you the way you see yourself. And it’s not going to happen.”

“Why?” she was yelling now. “What do you fucking know that I don’t that just magically makes me a good person?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “The only difference is that I see it differently than you. I know what you know. Even some of the bits I don’t think you wanted anyone to know.”

The last part was spoken quietly, guiltily. Because it wasn’t his place to know those things unless she told him. But he did know, and now he wanted to help her.

Her brows furrowed, a look of confusion plastering itself across her face, like she didn’t have clue about what he meant. What more was there to know besides the drugs and the prostitution and the ties to the mob? He just continued to calmly sit and watch her, waiting.

The second it clicked and she realised what he was referring to he knew. He could see the horror washing over her features before it became too much and she turned away from him.

He thought she might have been crying, or at least trying not to let him see her crying. But he could hear the little hitches in her breathing, could see the muscles in her jaw tensing as she tried not to sob out loud.

“It wasn’t your fault,” He really wanted to hold her hand, or to hug her. He wanted to let her know that he loved her and he just wanted to help. That he could never, _never_ judge her for this. But he knew that physical contact was not what she needed just then.

“You got away,” because he’d read the files, he’d heard it from her nearly. “You dropped out of school so he couldn’t find you. So no one could find you and send you back.”

“I didn’t call the police.”

And she was looking at him again, but part of him wished that she wasn’t, just so he didn’t have to see the way her face had gone blank. Like she had snapped, and she just didn’t have the energy to feel _anything_ anymore.

“I didn’t tell anyone at the school, I just let it happen,” Bucky had opened his mouth but she continued over the top of him. “Five years. Five years, and I knew, I knew what it was and still I didn’t… sometimes all I’m good at is running away. I was sleeping on the streets. Those first few weeks and I thought it was over. I thought I was going to die out there, I had no food, I was freezing.”

This time he didn’t try to interrupt, he sat quietly and he listened. Because he knew, from personal experience how much it helped to just let it out. And he hated it, he hated that he had to hear it, because he hated that it happened at all. But it did happen, and now she was telling him, and he knew that she needed him to hear it.

“Met a guy,” she wasn’t even looking at him anymore, not really, she was looking through him. “Don’t think I ever knew his name. He offered me a smoke, and not the kind you find tobacco in. And I knew what it was, what it would do. But I took it anyway. It just… made me feel brave, invincible, like nothing could touch me.”

Her voice was still quiet and blank, no inflection or emotion, like she was reading statistics off of a sheet.

“Turns out if wasn’t free, not that anything ever is. After, he gave me money too, just threw a couple of crumpled bills on me. It was the first time I’d bought food in what felt like forever. And it just clicked. _This_ is what I was good at, _this_ is what he’d made me good at.”

And so he listened, he listened to her explaining meeting Dooney and Radovan Kristic, listened to her describing everything with the lifeless tone that made her sound like she’d given up. When she stopped her knew that there was more, and he waited patiently, but she didn’t seem to be able to continue.

This time he did take a hold of her hand, squeezing it gently and waiting until she was looking him in the eye before speaking.

“There’s a difference between choosing to do something and choosing to live,” he gave her hand another squeeze, using the other to gently brush some of the hair back from her face. “Ask anyone and they’ll tell you what I am, you did what you had to survive.”

The smile he got in return made him feel worse. He was expecting her to fight him, he had arguments ready to try and prove that she was wrong about herself. But she just looked lost and defeated and not in the way that meant he’d won the argument and she saw herself the way he did.

“I killed a man,” her voice broke, wobbling over the last word. “Probably the best man I’ve ever met.”

Bucky knew that she meant Arthur. But he didn’t say anything, just continued to hold her hand and, like before, waited.

And she told him, taking Arthur back to his place because she needed somewhere to stay, stealing his things to try and sell, telling him about “Captain Industry” because Dooney had pissed her off and there was no way Arthur would actually do anything about it, and then making him pay for the information.

As he listened he could see it in his mind, the moment they’d first met, when she’d walked into the wrong room and nearly lost her life for it. She had sat in front of him and gently wiped the black from his face, mentioning that she’d done it before. He had seen photos of Defendor, knew that he wore black paint over his eyes, and he could see her helping him to clean it off.

Soon enough the story became less about using him and taking his stuff, it became about helping him. Teaching him to dance and buying his VHS tapes, watching him doing stupid things with wasps and getting him to listen to her favourite music.

“He was the first person that saw me,” she hadn’t stopped the way that she was staring at nothing, but he could see her brows pinch slightly at the realisation. “First person who didn’t just want me for what my body could give him.”

And then the story was about how she had put him in the hospital, how she ran away and ended up crawling back to Dooney, how despite all of that he came to rescue her, even if she’d already sort of rescued herself. Bucky couldn’t quite fight the proud smile when she told him about shooting Dooney in the balls, but it was short lived. She told him about Arthur believing Radovan was Captain Industry got him killed.

“He never would have known about him, except I told him,” she sniffed, he could see the tears beginning to collect on her eyelashes. “Never would have gone it I’d stopped him.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he didn’t know Arthur, not the way she did, but he had a pretty good idea about him. “Radovan may not have been the Captain Industry he was looking for, but Arthur strikes me as the kind of person who would want to stop him anyway, because he was a bad guy. It wasn’t your fault.”

He could see on her face that she didn’t believe him, she was even worse at hiding it than he apparently was.

“You need to stop blaming yourself,” he smiled, giving her hand another squeeze. “He made his own choice, he decided that he wanted to protect people, to protect you. You need to respect that, he obviously thought it was worth it.”

He wasn’t expecting her to laugh, albeit hollow and wet.

“What?” he frowned down at her.

“You and your emotionally constipated Captain probably haven’t had that conversation yet,” she almost sounded like her usual self, teasing, but still despondent. “It’s just that’s exactly what Peggy Carter basically told him about you, after you fell.”

“She’s a smart lady,” he smiled, meaning it. “You should listen to her.”

Her face grew sad again, the brief second of mirth gone just as quickly.

“Have you ever considered talking to someone about this?”

She looked back up at him, completely bemused.

“I know I wasn’t keen on the idea of seeing a shrink at first,” which was an understatement, he spent the first few sessions practicing his resting murder face and refusing to say a word. “But they did actually help.”

Her face was still filled with incredulity.

“I used to think I was this horrible monster,” if he was being honest, he still did some days. “I tried to kill the person I’ve loved most for my entire life. The shrinks helped, they still do. They help me to see that it wasn’t my fault, at least not in the way I thought it was.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Buck both loved and hated that even when she was feeling like he should hate her, that everyone should be disgusted by her, she still found it necessary to make sure that _he_ was ok, that he didn’t feel bad.

“I know,” he smiled down at her, because even though some days it was harder to believe than others, he was getting there. “But if I can learn I was wrong about myself, can you see how maybe you’re looking at yourself in the same way?”

“I guess,” she still sounded skeptical.

“The doctors helped me understand that just because I saw myself a certain way, didn’t mean that anyone else did,” he leaned forward slightly. “And I don’t want to force you into doing anything, but, you need to understand that it’s kind of the same thing. Just because you feel like this, doesn’t mean any of us do. I don’t. I love you Darcy, I just want to help.”

She stared up at him for what felt like an age, eyes big and bruised and searching, bottom lip trembling slightly as the tears that she hadn’t let fall again gathered. Patiently he waited, he would sit here all night if he had to, if that was what it took for her to see that he was serious.

“I’ll think about it,” it was small and fragile but no less honest.

Finally he gave in to the urge to hug her, scooping her up in his arms and squeezing as tight as he could without jostling her too much (and thus her gunshot wound). For a long time he just sat there holding her, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling the living warmth of her pressed against him.

“Please don’t scare me like that again,” he whispered, his head still tucked into the side of her neck. He didn’t get a response, just a tightening of her arms.

He knew that this didn’t fix everything, that she still had a long way to go before she would ever be close to being ok. But he hoped that at least he had given her something to think about, that it would help her if she want to speak to someone about it. Because they both still had a ways to go, but now at least, he was confident that she knew that he was going to stick by her, that she couldn’t scare him off.

She was his best friend, he wasn’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: the first part deals directly with what happened with Kat before she became Darcy, including, child abuse, sexual abuse, underage prostitution and drug use, non/dub-con in some instances. Darcy does mention all or most of those things later when talking to Bucky, but not nearly as graphic.**
> 
>  
> 
> Ok, so this is actually the last chapter. 
> 
> Don't panic, I'm not going to end it here. There is an epilogue coming, because I am a sucker for a happy ending and I think its needed to wrap everything up.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read, kudos'd, commented, bookmarked etc. Like seriously, I know I've mentioned it a few times but I am honestly so grateful for every single one of you. This is my first fic in this fandom, and the first I've published in a while. I've only ever really done a few before, and most of those were when I was fourteen and filled with Harry Potter angst. So it always surprises me when people read this let alone like it. So thank you thank you thank you! 
> 
> I'll try and get the epilogue up as soon as I can, it's not very long so hopefully it won't take forever.
> 
> Thanks again you glorious creatures.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Clint was just determined to prove every pre-conceived notion she had about humanity wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I start every chapter saying sorry for the length of time between updates, but that makes it no less genuine. Sorry :(
> 
> This chapter I'd like to dedicate to my friend Tegan, who will never read it as she doesn't really read fanfiction and especially isn't as into Marvel as I am. But she is getting a tattoo right now and I am her designated driver/provider-of-juice-and-snacks (she is smaller than skinny Steve and will die if I don't) so I have had a lovely couple of hours to sit and smash this out. 
> 
> But also now I am seriously considering getting a Peggy pin-up style tattoo. Oh well, c'est la vie.
> 
> Working title of this chapter was "The Most Epic of Logs".

“Hey guys,” she smiled, coughing slightly to clear her throat. “My name is Darcy and, well, I’ve been sober for eight years.”

There was a quiet chorus of “hello Darcy” at her words, the sound echoing slightly in the half empty room.

It was a small community hall, one usually used by a local theatre group for plays. The stage was behind her, empty but for a stack of boxes and a ladder. She was standing in front of the stage, at floor level, leaning against a small podium. There were only about two dozen people sitting in front of her on the fold out chairs.

“It’s been a while since I’ve come to one of these things,” she picked up her mug and gave a small salute with it. “I know because I actually forgot how awful the coffee can be.”

There was a small but genuine rumble of laughter from the group and she smiled, feeling less nervous. There was a pretty even mix of men and women sitting before her. Some of them were older, worn down by the world and showing it, others her age and looking no less worn down.

She could pick out the newbies, hunched over in their seats, avoiding eye contact and trying to make themselves smaller, invisible. There were one or two glancing around nervously, still unsure if they should even be there, but sitting in the uncomfortable chairs and drinking the bitter water they call coffee none-the-less.

The older veterans were sitting patiently as each person took their turn, getting help and giving it, just by listening to everyone share their stories. Listening to people like her.

“Guess I’m not really sure what made me decide to come today,” she admitted. “Like I said, it’s been a few years. I just…”

Darcy had been seeing Dr “call me Kenya” Poitier for three weeks now. Twice a week, fifty minute sessions apiece. Ellen Park had recommended her, apparently they’d been college roommates. Since Darcy trusted Dr Park, she rusted Kenya, even before the extensive background checks and vetting Tony had completed.

They haven’t talked about much, which surprised her at first. She’d assumed that the lady-shrink would want to get all up into the nitty gritty of it straight away, learn every detail and then tell Darcy what to do to get “better”.

“Darcy, I’m not here to force you to share your darkest secrets,” Kenya had smiled good-naturedly at her. “I am actually here to try and help you. So why don’t we start with getting to know each other first?”

Darcy had replied to that with a rather disbelieving look.

“My interest,” Kenya had explained, crossing her legs before smoothing down the light fabric of her skirt. “Is in the Darcy sitting in front of me, right now. Not ten, twenty years ago. I can’t do a lot to help her anymore, much as I wish someone could have. What I would like, if you’d allow it, is to help you now.”

So they had started off light, talking about her job, and chatting about Jack and the Carters (Kenya had asked about her family, and they were the only family that had ever counted). She told Kenya about things she liked, stuff she didn’t, where she saw herself in five years. It was like a weird combination of informal job interview and speed date.

After Kenya had signed about thirty-six thousand NDAs they’d even been allowed to discuss her friends.

“I guess my first question would be why you came to see me,” Kenya had asked after several sessions of what were basically really expensive coffee dates. “What made you decide to come and seek help now?”

“Bucky,” she hadn’t even had to think about it. “He told me that even though he had hated the idea at first, seeing someone had helped him. Said sometimes all you needed was someone to tell.”

“And why did you feel that you couldn’t tell them?” she asked in response, before explaining. “I’m not trying to dissuade you, or make you second guess your decision. I’m just curious about why you felt you couldn’t share with your friends. It seems to me that they would be well versed in awful pasts.”

“I do! I mean I’m trying,” she explained. “Bucky’s the only person who knows everything. And I told him he could tell Steve, because they are stupid in love and tell each other everything. But I’ve been working on it, the sharing thing.”

It had been hard at first. The first time anyone came to see her in the hospital they had all been wary. After she’d woken up and Bucky was still there, Steve had popped in to say hello and give Bucky a ride home. He hadn’t asked anything further than whether she was ok, and if there was anything he could bring in for her.

He’d stood behind Bucky, absent-mindedly holding onto his shoulders and letting her know when each of the others were planning to come and see her, if and only if she were up to it. It wasn’t until he was saying goodbye and giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead that he mentioned her coming home.

Apparently it hadn’t even occurred to him that she could now go back to her own apartment, he’d already moved all of her stuff into Bucky’s old room so that it would be ready for her when she got discharged.

And the entire time he was there, even though he didn’t ask or say anything, she could see it written all over his big dumb face the offer of support and love. Coupled with the dopey-ass grin Bucky had plastered on his face when he looked at Steve she almost burst in to tears all over again.

“Jane and I have talked about some stuff,” she had continued to explain to Kenya. “Nothing too heavy. But we’re getting there.”

Jane had taken to asking her over to dinner at least once a week, sometimes with Thor there, other times just the two of them. The best thing about Jane was that she knew when to push and when to leave something alone. She was happy to let Darcy say nothing and just ramble on for an hour or two about the latest developments on the Rainbow Road (the three of them had been playing the Wii one night and when they’d reached that level of Mario Kart Thor had excitedly explained the similarities to the bridge in Asgard. His excitement had died a pretty swift death when they’d actually started racing and he’d driven off of the edge the first twelve times, but the name had stuck).And sometimes they talked, Jane listening as Darcy shared, and it was nice to have that with Jane again.

“And I’ve been talking with Clint. He’s been letting me hang out at his place so I can hug his dog, or even if I need some space when the love-pterodactyls have been getting too cutesy. He’s a good guy.”

There must have been something showing on her face when she said that, because Kenya’s next question had been, “Are you and he…?”

“No. Yes. Sort of,” she winced at Kenya’s raised eyebrows. “We had a date, the night everything broke out. One date. And, I mean, he’s been really sweet since then. He’s really emphatic about waiting ‘til I’m ready though. Which is actually really nice.”

The first time Clint had come to see her in the hospital was awful. Not that he was awful, because he wasn’t, he was wonderful, but the situation had been awful.

He had snuck her in an entire thermos full of coffee, hidden in an enormous bouquet of flowers. The flowers were sweet, but she wasn’t really a flowers kind of girl, so when he pulled the half gallon flask out from the centre of the arrangement with a flourish she’d been about a second away from telling him to marry her.

Then of course they sat in awkward silence for the first twenty minutes drinking the contraband coffee.  Because he was too nice to ask about what happened, but also smart enough not to ask how she was doing. And she wanted to tell him, to let him know that she liked him enough and trusted him enough to share things about herself with him (especially since he had already shared so much with her) but also really didn’t want to talk about it more than she already had.

Clint had been the braver out of the two of them, though when he’d asked if she’d told Bucky what was going on she immediately got defensive thinking he was about to go down the dangerous road of asking why she could tell Bucky things and not him.

Of course, Clint was just determined to prove every pre-conceived notion she had about humanity wrong.

When she admitted that she had in fact told Bucky everything he’d merely nodded and told her that he was happy she could at least talk to someone about it. Then proceeded to let her know that if she did want to talk to him she could, but if she also wanted to be around someone that she didn’t feel obligated to air all of her dirty laundry around then he was more than happy to be that person too. Because he liked her a lot and was happy to be whatever she needed him to be, because she deserved to have that choice.

“I’m not really used to being the one calling the shots,” she’d told Kenya.

“Have you spoken to anyone else?” the psychiatrist had asked.

“I don’t know if it counts,” she’d begun. “But Natasha’s been training with me. Teaching me some self-defence, so I’m not limited to relying on my Taser and my rapier wit, because apparently one of those is highly ineffective and the other is illegal in the greater New York area.”

Kenya had smirked and rolled her eyes, which Darcy had found reassuring. She liked that Kenya could be professional and strict with her, but could also take a joke as well as dolling a few of them out.

“We talk. Well, sometimes I talk and she listens. Natasha is really good at listening. Other times she just lets me hit things. I got to shoot a gun the other day. Second time ever. Tony refuses to pay for me to get certified to carry though. Something about not being able to afford the insurance premiums.”

A that, Kenya had thrown her head back and laughed, loud and uninhibited. It wasn’t the polite yet professional smile she had expected, and therefor one of the reasons Darcy had continued to show up for their appointments, the fact that Kenya didn’t sensor herself like that. If she found Darcy funny she laughed genuinely, if she thought Darcy was being an idiot she told her to her face. It was refreshing, and wonderful and exactly what Darcy needed in a shrink.

She also didn’t mind when Darcy didn’t know the answer to the questions she asked. “Why do you think you find it so hard to share with them? You came in here prepared to lay the entire thing out for me, a total stranger. I’m curious to know why that confidence doesn’t extend to your friends.”

And Darcy didn’t really have an answer to that, though it was probably one of the reasons she was here, now at a group session for other strangers with addiction issues.

“I guess I came here today because I was feeling a little lonely?” she glanced around at the unfamiliar faces, some wearing small smiles of understanding, others frowns of confusion. “Not lonely really. I’ve got a group of friends who do support me, it’s just… Sometimes I think it’s nice not to feel like the only one.”

Darcy made eye contact with a frail looking girl sitting in the middle of the hall, not at the front where she could be called upon to contribute, but not at the back where it would look like she was trying not to participate at all. She had mousy brown hair and sat completely by herself, hunched over a canvas tote bag that had been adored with bright coloured pictures obviously painted by a child. Giving the girl, who couldn’t have been any older than Darcy, a small smile she kept her gaze moving, not wanting anyone to feel like they were being singled out, but wanting them to know that she was speaking to them.

“As much as I love my friends - they’re kind of like my family - none of them spent several years selling themselves to be able to afford crystal meth, so it’s hard for them. They don’t know bottom the way that you guys do. So even though they are incredible, I guess the reason I’m here today is because it’s nice to be with other people with the same problems.

“That’s what this is about right? Sharing experiences? I don’t know any of you, and apart from the fact that I was a meth addict, you don’t really know me. But that’s ok, because we’re connected through that. You may not have been smoking bling like me, maybe you were shooting heroin, or maybe you just drank a bit too much, but we’re still connected. So even though I don’t know you’re last name, or where you live or your family, I know you. And you are some of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

She made sure to pause and look at every single one of them, because she was so grateful, that they were here still, that they were fighting and giving her somewhere to safely do the same.

“You make me want to be brave too, so thank you for that.”

No one really clapped as she stepped down to take a seat. But that was ok, because it wasn’t the sort of thing that needed applause. Several people were brave enough to smile back at her as she wandered over to where she had been sitting. Some in understanding, others seeming to say thanks. The girl she noticed earlier held her gaze for a second, a small twitch at the corner of her lips all she could manage before quickly looking away. But it was enough.

After sitting for another half an hour to listen to some of the others share they all got up to leave, several people paused to talk to their fellow addicts, obviously already being familiar with each other, asking about work and friends. A few of the younger newbies fled quickly and quietly, nervously glancing around as they went.

Darcy made her way over to Jamal, the man who ran the group, to thank him for having her and letting her share. He smiled warmly in response, shaking her hand with both of his and giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it, reminding her that they meet here every Thursday if she ever wanted to drop by. She took his card, thoughts still stuck on the girl with the kid’s tote bag, a vague idea about looking into being a sponsor forming in her mind.

So yeah, Darcy’s life wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely getting better.

She wasn’t up to sharing everything with everyone yet, happy that at least Steve and Bucky knew, that they care and were helping. She was happy that she’d started mending things with Jane working towards the relationship the astrophysicist thought that they’d had all along.

She was working on opening herself up to new people, well not new really since she had known them for a while now. But it was different, sharing with Clint because in return he was sharing with her. It was not something she’d ever done before, giving information in equal measure as what she got, but it was good. She had an appointment with Kenya tomorrow afternoon, and she actually felt like she might be in a place to start talking about Kat, instead of “focusing on Darcy” as they usually did.

Darcy was also planning on asking Clint out on a date. Because while she appreciated the fact that he was happy to go slow, to wait for her until she was ready, she had always been impatient. There was a bar that she’d found that supposedly had a wing sauce that could make a grow adult cry, and a movie with Nicholas Cage with the worst fake British accent she’d ever heard that looked like absolute garbage and she was dying to see it.

Grabbing a coffee and making her way back to the tower she pulled out her cell, thinking about giving him a call to broach the subject when it started to vibrate in her hand. The dedicated ring (Ron Burgundy yelling “ASSEMBLE!”) was the one that signalled the Avengers had been called.

Did she mention her promotion?

Apparently SHIELD had more important things to be doing than worrying about making sure the Avengers kept the collateral damage to a minimum and at least pretended they weren’t actively trying to piss off every major news outlet in the country. According to Coulson he’d never seen anyone able to ride herd on the entire team (but mostly Tony) lthe way that she did.

By the time she slid into the ridiculously comfortable chair at her workstation (that she totally did _not_ steal from Jane’s lab, she used her new authority to determine that its use would be better served somewhere someone actually sat on it – Jane didn’t _do_ desk work – and thus repurposed it) she’d already read through the brief about the man with the mutant attack lizards wreaking havoc on the upper east side.

The large bank of monitors spread before her were already displaying footage. Several from the various news vultures that had already descended upon the scene, a couple from security cameras they could hack into, and the central screens showing the footage from the cameras on the team’s uniforms.

She watched as Natasha’s Glocks made quick work of several of the lizards, catching sight of Sam swooping in front of her to drop a trashcan on one of the reptile’s heads. When she slipped the headset on she could hear them all bickering over the comms, sass and scathing nicknames being thrown about as much as the bullets they were firing, as Steve tried to get them to focus.

Settling back in her chair and sipping from her latte she smiled to herself.

She may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time when she stumbled across Jane and subsequently became and intern to a semi-mad scientist, but as she watched the Avengers work, making note of whatever collateral damage she could see and anything she might need to smooth over, thinking about what blackmail material she’d have to use to get Tony to hand his mission report on time, and occasionally cutting in when their banter was getting too out of control, she knew that there was no place she would rather be.

Darcy had always been better at wrangling superheroes anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that would be the end of it. Thank you so so so much to all of you for reading, but especially those of you who have left kudos or commented. It means a lot to me that you like (or hate) it enough to tell me.
> 
> As always, the entire thing was completely unbetaed to feel free to point out any and all errors you might notice.
> 
> Thanks again, y'all are the beez kneez yo.


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